


Someone Like You

by drsquidlove



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anonymous Sex, Coming Out, Crossdressing, Crossover, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Fatherhood, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Post-Canon, Rape Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship(s), Romance, Sexual Identity, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 249,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drsquidlove/pseuds/drsquidlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tobias Beecher's trying to rebuild his family in the shadow of the man he was in prison. Elliot Stabler's struggling to continue in the wake of divorce while his job eats away at his soul. It makes for an odd friendship, but it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A magical copy

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> Beecher/Stabler, Beecher/anonymous fucks, a living history of Beecher/Keller and Elliot Stabler/Kathy Stabler.
> 
> If you like long, meandering stories about guys dealing with the fallout of canonical angst while gradually falling into a relationship that perhaps challenges their earlier notions of stable heterosexuality, occasionally fucking it up, coming out to friends and family, and generally learning to get through the stresses of everyday life together, then, this is that. Basically, this is an attempt to believably turn Elliot gay. And willing to bring home an ex-con with Toby's baggage. It took a lot of words.
> 
> Rated R. Story contains some violence and references to sexual violence. I'll be very specific about sexual violence: no sexual violence will happen to any of the major characters, and no sexual violence happens 'onscreen'. However, Toby was raped in canon, and Elliot's canonical job is dealing with sexual violence, and these both play a role in the story, sometimes with details. Also, there's some rough consensual sex. If you're okay with either Oz or SVU, you should be fine.
> 
> Post-Oz. Splits off in season 7 of SVU: Elliot's divorce is in the works, Olivia's his partner, he's cleaned up Katheen's DUI.
> 
> The delicious, beautiful artwork that will be scattered through the story - including the story icon and banner - is by the incredibly talented and awesome Barbana.
> 
> Story wordcount: 230 000 ish. (Like... over 50 chapters. No, seriously.)
> 
> Dr Squidlove inappropriately touches all feedback. Concrit thoroughly welcome, warm fuzzies treasured. Oh lordy, let there still be people reading in these fandoms.
> 
> Oz is the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. Law & Order: SVU is the property of Dick Wolf and NBC. The characters are used without permission, but with much appreciation.

Someone Like You  
chapter 1: A magical copy  
Oct 2014

Toby's steps slowed as his breath stuck in his chest. Red and blue lights bounced off the dingy concrete buildings and the puddles in the uneven brick street. He fought the urge to turn and run. 

He hadn't done anything wrong. This wasn't about him.

The usual crowd of twinks and bears and random night clubbers had been pushed back behind yellow tape, replaced by uniformed cops stomping their feet on the wet ground and blowing white mist on their hands, and sober professionals in waterproof government jackets.

They weren't here for him. His heart raced anyway, Pavlov's pulse. 

Drug bust? That wouldn't be surprising. For this many cars and milling uniforms it had to be big. There were a couple of paramedics, not looking like they were in any kind of hurry. A black SUV with the coroner's shield on the door. Had his half-assed attempt at self-control gotten him out of a shooting? Cold air slipped around his legs, and he shivered.

Toby wasn't in the dark safety of the club, anymore. He pulled a tissue out of his coat pocket and wiped his mouth clean, tugged his coat tighter and stayed on the far side of the street, trying to blend in with the onlookers. He felt sticky and used and didn't want to be dragged in for questioning looking this way. Or at all.

Thank god he'd come out for air. He'd told himself he was done for the night, was headed for home, but one taxi after another had passed and even though he was freezing under his coat and his feet were killing him, he hadn't flagged any of them down. He'd just circled a couple of blocks, got some extra cash out at the ATM, killed forty-five minutes strolling the West Village in these shoes until he weakened and headed back here for one more round.

It looked like that temptation had been taken care of. Toby rubbed his head. What if he'd been rounded up for questioning? He had to stop doing this. He traded one addiction for the next. Alcohol for heroin. Heroin for rage. Rage for Chris. And now this place. This shit hole, which was bad enough when it wasn't infested with cops.

There were a few people milling around by the police barricades who seemed upset, a whole lot more who were just excited to be so close to big news. Toby recognised a fair few of the regulars from inside. If he was smart he would leave: take his aching ass and trampled body and get far away before someone asked for his statement, but curiosity held him.

"Tobias!"

A split-second of terror until he recognised the voice. "Hector!" Toby moved along the sidewalk to join him, grateful to have someone to talk to. "What happened?" Hector was six foot two and almost as wide, covered in Santa Muerte tattoos, someone he would have scuttled across the street to avoid ten years ago. They'd hooked up once, but Hector had tried to kiss him.

"Rumour is a kid got raped real bad and killed in the bathroom. Sick fucker."

Toby had thought he was done with violence and death when he walked out of prison six weeks ago. "Do they know who?"

"You know that white-blond waify kid who used to trail after Bubbles? I'm pretty sure it's him."

"Hell." Toby had talked to him once at the bar, never fucked him. He was grateful for that. That kid and Toby weren't each other's type. If anything, they were competition, lining up for the same... 

The cold slid under Toby's coat and raised goose bumps. He'd seen him tonight. Alive, not that long before he left. "Do you know which bathroom?"

"Nah."

"Do you know what time?"

"I don't know, Tobias. What the fuck?"

"I might have... I saw him go into the bathroom."

"Shit, man." Hector looked him up and down. "Maybe you were the last to see him alive."

Maybe he was. Toby stared across at the police with their notebooks out, picking their way through the crowd.

Hector snorted. "You gonna front up to the pigs dressed like that, baby? Maybe one of 'em'll take a shining to your pretty ass."

For a couple of minutes, Toby had forgotten where he was, who he was. He couldn't talk to the cops. Especially not looking like this. Toby looked down. With these shoes it didn't take much to guess what was going on under the jacket, and a tissue wasn't going to clean off the rest of his make-up. So what, then? To hell with the kid, because Toby couldn't choke down a little humiliation? That was a laugh. "I have to do it." Toby steeled himself and checked the street, was about to step off the kerb when a dark sedan pulled in too fast, rolling to a stop across the road. A couple of plainclothes cops stepped out of the car.

Chris.

The ground rolled under Toby's feet. It was Chris. Toby blinked and blinked again, but there was no question. He had to be crazy. Toby knew that face, the shape of that body better than his own, felt his own body reaching the way it always had. Chris in every detail, but instead of a wifebeater or sweatshirt he wore a long navy coat over a jacket and red tie, and as he turned a gold badge swung on his neck. It was Chris.

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and said something over the car to the woman who'd climbed out the driver's side. He pulled a woollen cap over his head and they headed through the barriers, casual as could be, as though the world hadn't just been turned inside out.

Toby had been coming here for weeks, searching for something to wake him up inside. It was like Toby had wished Chris into existence, but that was ridiculous. Toby hadn't had a wish come true in years.

Chris was dead. In a life full of uncertainties, Toby knew that much for sure. Chris lay twisted on the floor of Em City, wide blank eyes staring up at Toby and the balcony he'd plunged from. Even a broken neck couldn't break that relentless focus

So what - Chris rose from the dead, and they let him out of prison and gave him a detective's badge? Rising from the dead was the most likely part of that scenario. But if that wasn't Chris, it was a magical copy. Everything was right. The strong nose, the sharp eyes, receding hairline cropped close. Even the build looked right through the bulk of clothes. Toby wanted to touch him so much his hands ached.

Toby was at the barricade line before he even realised he'd been creeping closer. He hadn't taken a drink in six years, or a drug in longer than that. He hadn't drunk anything anyone could have slipped something into but nothing else made sense. His gut, his heart, his cock, all told him that was Chris Keller. All Toby had to do was get through this barrier and call his name, and his head would turn, as perfect as the moment when Toby finally reached him on death row.

Chris was talking to forensics people like they all knew each other, barking orders at the uniforms like it was something he'd been doing for years. Maybe Toby had strolled through a wormhole into an alternative universe. If Chris Keller was a detective here, what did that make Toby?

"Stabler!" was yelled from across the scene, and Chris looked up, ambled over. Not quite the way Chris walked.

Stabler. Detective Stabler.

A uniformed cop broke Toby's view. "Any other witnesses? Anyone seen this man tonight?" He was holding up a photo that looked like it had been blown up from a driver's license. That was the kid. The cop wrinkled his nose as he looked past Toby. Up by the entrance the Chris doppelganger was bitching out another uniform, jaw hard, eyes flashing with irritation. Toby held his breath, waiting for that sudden false grin like a rattlesnake's tail, but the partner put her hand on his arm and he backed down, only throwing back a look of disgust.

No, Toby wasn't going to front up to the cops looking like this. Smelling like this. Especially not that cop. He couldn't move, though, until Chris headed into the club behind his partner, through the door Toby had scurried out of less than an hour ago. Toby slipped back into the crowd. Now he was going to hail a cab.

 

 

"What the hell do you mean, misplaced? You've lost it?" Elliot's hand squeezed the phone as he slouched back in his chair, catching Olivia's sympathetic look. "Both of the evaluations were with the paperwork I sent you two weeks ago."

They'd worked right through the night and he was about ready to call it quits. They'd finally run their way through the parade of reluctant witnesses in the Markstrom murder: hipsters, closet cases, bikers, trannies and garden variety gays. No one saw anything, but they all had plenty to say about cops not doing anything to help, and none of them could draw a line between the two.

Liv was on the phone with the ME and Elliot was snatching two minutes to call his divorce lawyer, which had turned into ten minutes dealing with her assistant. He rubbed his forehead as she started shuffling through papers again. The future didn't exactly look bright, but Elliot was ready to be done with fucking lawyers.

Elliot sighed, looked up and noticed a guy in the doorway staring at him. Bookish, glasses, a soft grey overcoat that looked custom. Hair just slightly too long for the Wall Street look. And nervous, like he might rabbit any second. Elliot looked around for someone to send over there, but Olivia was stuck on her own call and nobody else was nearby. And the guy was staring pretty hard at Elliot.

This assistant would have him sitting here for another ten minutes. "Look, just get Diane to call me, all right? She knows my number." Elliot was on his feet before he put down the phone, not giving the guy a chance to run. "I'm Detective Elliot Stabler. Can I help you?"

He stepped backwards, eyes darting to the elevator and then back to Elliot, seeming honestly surprised that anyone had asked him a question. Elliot moved back to give him space, and he moved forward again, like some strange little dance, and then the guy braced himself with a visible effort. "Elliot Stabler."

"Yeah."

"You're investigating the murder at Franco's last night."

"Yes - you have information?" He rubbed a hand over his head and bit his lip, so Elliot moved in and lowered his voice. "We can be discreet, sir. Let's find somewhere quiet." Elliot gestured towards the interview room and caught Liv's eye. This guy was either a nutcase or the key they'd been looking for, and the suit said he probably wasn't a nutcase. She tipped her head, never pausing on her call. She'd stop by.

Elliot led the way to the interview room, saw the way the guy hesitated in the door. "Sorry it's not very friendly. If you'd prefer-"

"It's fine." The witness shed his coat, looking around for somewhere to put it until Elliot took it off his hands and hung it up by the door. It weighed a ton, and the dark suit beneath looked tailored, too. If this guy was Franco's clientele, he was seriously slumming it.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

"No, I'm... I just wanted to talk to you."

Elliot pulled a chair around so he was sitting diagonally, took out a notebook and pen. "Will you tell us your name, sir?"

"Tobias."

He's push for a last name later. "You have information?"

"I was at Franco's last night."

"Inside?"

Tobias hunched over his elbows, looking a lot less comfortable in himself than he had in that first glimpse. Closet case, Elliot wondered? Worried this would get him outed? Or involved somehow? He wasn't Wall Street. He'd shed his expensive coat and underneath was an expensive suit but something about the way Tobias kept tugging his sleeves, straightening the jacket, told Elliot he didn't wear it often. He'd dressed up to come here today. Manicured fingernails, no wedding ring, but Elliot still wouldn't have picked him as gay. He stared up at Elliot, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Detective Stabler." He said the name like he was trying it out. "How long have you been a cop?"

"Since I was twenty-one." Elliot sat back, his best 'just chatting' pose. "What do you do?"

"Just... office work. Real estate. Nothing interesting." Highly-paid office work. "And you've always done this? Sex crimes?"

"Most of it." Elliot hated explaining the job to strangers, but he kept a friendly face on it. This guy wanted to trust him. "I get to help a lot of people."

Amusement glittered behind Tobias's glasses, and it raised Elliot's hackles.

"You were at Franco's last night."

Tobias chewed his lip again and the laughter was gone, like maybe it wasn't at Elliot's expense after all. "I don't know how helpful I can be. I didn't see anything happen."

"Just tell us what you did see," Elliot said, gently.

"I saw the kid - I don't know his name-"

"Leo." Elliot flipped through the file, slid across the photo as a reminder.

Tobias sighed when he saw it, but his eyes tracked straight back to Elliot and Elliot realised it was the first time his gaze had wavered. This guy was intense, though the staring didn't seem challenging or lewd. Curious, maybe. "That's him. I saw the kid go into the bathroom. I saw another guy go in a few seconds later. I'd noticed them talking in the back corner not long before that."

It wasn't much, but it was more than they'd gotten out of the rest of the crowd. "Can you describe the guy who followed him?"

"Tall, dark-haired, muscular. Gym junkie, probably."

"That rules out the twinks and the drag queens, but probably leaves half the clientele." Tobias flushed, and Elliot kicked himself. So much for building trust. Elliot wondered what group this guy fell in.

"Greek," said Tobias, suddenly.

"Greek?"

"Maybe. Mediterranean. He looked Greek, but maybe..."

Maybe Italian, or Albanian. "Tattoos? Height?"

"Yeah, he had some ink. My height - 5'11". Early, maybe mid-thirties."

It was the best lead they had so far. "If we sit you down with a sketch artist..."

"Sure."

"What time did you see them go in?"

"Eleven? Five-past?"

That was their window, right on the nose. Olivia would be through that door in- The door clicked as Olivia slid in. She hung back, letting Elliot hold Tobias's attention. He never even looked her way.

"You didn't think to intervene?"

Tobias looked at him like he'd just asked how babies were made. "It was two guys going to the bathroom in Franco's. Men fuck in that bathroom all night. I'll bet your CSU had a job with the fluids in there."

O'Halloran had said they could dedicate every New York forensics lab around the clock for a month and not get through it all. "Men don't leave that bathroom on stretchers every night."

"That's why I'm here. I imagine you won't have many willing witnesses from that crowd."

Right again. "Have you fucked in that bathroom?"

Tobias rubbed his hands over his face, under his glasses. "Yeah."

"Last night?"

"Yeah." Tobias dragged his hands away. "You'll let me know if I need a lawyer, right?"

Elliot had to hold on to the trust they'd built. "Just routine questions. We see plenty of terrible things in our line of work, Tobias. We aren't going to judge what two consenting adults get up to."

That got a little huff, amusement or embarrassment, Elliot couldn't tell. "You run the DNA on the floor in the first stall, you'll find me. Unless they haven't washed the stalls this week, then you might find me in the second."

Leo Markstrom was killed in the fourth.

Olivia leaned on the table. "Will you give us a DNA sample?"

"You don't need it."

They'd come back to that. Elliot had a feeling there was more going on, but he had to take his time getting there.

He tapped the photo. "Do you know the victim?"

"I've seen him around. Made conversation at the bar once, a few weeks back. We've never..."

Never had random sex in a filthy toilet stall without asking each other's names. Elliot supposed that was the measure of knowing someone, in a place like Franco's. Even after all these years at SVU - more so, after wading through other people's sex lives - Elliot didn't get the appeal. He could analyse it, paint out motives, profile the behaviour, but on a gut level, he didn't understand why anyone would want to fuck anonymous strangers. Let alone in a hole like that. Even with the total wreck of his marriage in the hands of lawyers, it was Kathy that Elliot's body craved. Still Kathy on his mind when he jerked off in the shower. He wondered what drove Tobias: maybe he didn't wear that suit so often, but he seemed together, clean-cut, educated. Rich self-hating gays usually stuck to secret handshakes in golf clubs.

"I have to ask: did you take any drugs last night?"

"No."

"I'm not going to prosecute you, I just-"

"I didn't take any drugs."

"How many drinks did you have?"

"None." Elliot felt his eyebrows rise, but Tobias was firm. "I wasn't there for the scotch."

Elliot held his gaze for a moment. He believed him. That wasn't what he was hiding. "Would you mind taking a blood test? If we need to call you as a witness, it'll help our case to show you were sober." From a gay bar fuelled with drink and drugs, home to cop-haters and attention-shy closet-cases, they were never going to have a lot of solid eye-witnesses.

"Look, I'm no good to you as a testifying witness. I just wanted to help you find him."

Elliot leaned in. "You seem like a pretty good witness to me. I can understand if you're worried about being outed-"

Tobias waved his hand. "There isn't anyone who could think less of me. I'm saying my testimony wouldn't be worth a damn."

Olivia cottoned on first. "You've been in prison."

Elliot almost laughed, until he saw Tobias's panicked look at Elliot. Elliot sat back. Even now it didn't sit right, but details fell into place: the way he'd hunched down in here, the fear of giving too much away. That was the look, hidden beneath the suit. Tobias was a damned skel.

Tobias's expression turned resigned under Elliot's glare. "I got four to fifteen for vehicular manslaughter and DUI. I served eight years in Oz."

And Elliot gaped again. Oswald was no country club. He'd thrown some serious scumbags in there.

Elliot looked back over his shoulder. Olivia was just as surprised. She let a mocking edge into her tone. "Four to fifteen years in Oswald for vehicular manslaughter? The judge didn't like you."

He glanced her way. It was the first real acknowledgement he'd given her, but he still directed his answer to Elliot. "There wasn't much to like."

Their witness had been in Oz. A scumbag drunk driver with a death on his conscience. So much for the clean-cut office guy. Looking closer, he wasn't as lean and geeky as he'd first appeared; there was some muscle under the tailored jacket. And maybe what Elliot had passed off as fear of being outed had more to do with fear of cops. Two big reasons for Tobias to keep his mouth shut but here he was anyway, hard-time con in a three thousand dollar suit voluntarily putting himself in an interrogation room. It made him even more of a puzzle. "How long have you been out?"

"Six weeks. I got out in September."

Shit. Some witness. And still the best they had. "Your record isn't good, but you present yourself well enough..."

"The reason I took so long to come forward..." Tobias's eyes dropped, cheeks shading red. This wasn't going to be good. "Last night I was all dressed up. My prettiest red dress and lipstick to match. How does that play with a jury?"

Elliot's mouth fell open. "You're a transvestite?"

"No!" His eyes went wide, like it had never occurred to him. "Maybe? You can ask my therapist, when I get one."

Olivia said, "We don't care about what you were wearing. We care what you saw, and it sounds like you have some serious karma to win back."

Tobias narrowed his eyes. "If my testimony was worth something I'd consider testifying, but I'm not going to go to court to be smeared by a defense lawyer for nothing. I'm just here to help you find the guy. If you don't find more than me to build your case, you won't have one."

Elliot wondered if he had a problem with women, or it was just the way Olivia was needling him. He was right, though; even if he was solid, the defense wouldn't have a lot of trouble dirtying him up for a jury. Elliot hadn't got any sense of feminisation from Tobias. Was that why he looked so uncomfortable in his suit? He wished he was in a dress? Elliot couldn't picture it.

Olivia stepped in, ready to distract. "Why didn't you speak up last night?"

"I'd gone to out to find an ATM, and when I came back the place was surrounded."

"What time was that?"

He pulled out his wallet and rummaged for a slip, checked it and slid it across the table. To Elliot.

Elliot let it sit there for Olivia to pick up, to gauge Tobias's reaction. His gaze never wandered from Elliot. She read, "11:31. There's an ATM right outside the club. Why'd you walk all the way to 5th Avenue?"

"Same reason I never run my bill on a tab. I value my privacy."

It was a convenient alibi - Warner put time of death between 11:15 and 11:45. It was also a believable story, and it fit with what Elliot had seen of him here. They'd check ATM surveillance, but Elliot wasn't counting Tobias as a suspect.


	2. No Vices left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 1:  
> Toby was headed back to his favourite cheap-sex destination when he discovered it had been turned into a crime scene, attended by a detective who was the spitting image of his dead lover. The next morning he went in to give information to the clone, one Detective Elliot Stabler. Toby's information was mildly useful, but his years in prison and his little red dress ruled him out as a star witness.

Toby stared at his reflection: a sad, aging man in a dress. Disgust burned in his stomach. He could feel Chris in the room like he was standing behind him, sneering at Toby the bitch.

Toby sneered right back. You've got a mystical twin, Chris. You're not so special after all.

Detective Stabler was a model citizen with a tie and a wedding ring, probably had pictures of his kids in his wallet, too perfect to be real. Tobias Beecher used to be too perfect to be real, too. Maybe the good detective was on his fourth or fifth marriage. Maybe he was a gambling addict. Toby scraped his imagination for scandalous vices, but he couldn't think of any others he hadn't dabbled in himself.

He picked the eye shadow up off the sink, blended greys and blues to make the gays in Oz proud. He wondered if they'd cleaned Leo's blood off the floor of the stall where he died. Toby was ludicrously grateful he'd never had sex with Leo Markstrom. Another marker on the crazy-meter: he was more comfortable being fucked by a murderer than another murder victim, where his imagination might latch onto the idea of Chris hunting his lovers from the afterlife.

You think I'd care who you fucked now, Toby? Looking like this?

Yeah, Toby thought. You'll always care.

Toby had envisioned Chris waiting for him at the gates of heaven whether Toby wanted him to or not, like a final, inevitable obstacle to ever-lasting peace. Toby had thought he had the rest of his life to gather the strength to turn him away. He hadn't been prepared to find him sooner.

A dash of blush to highlight his cheekbones - lovely cheekbones, he'd been told, by some drag queen who'd clucked in disapproval at his amateurish work and dragged her glittered fingernail along the lines the brush was supposed to follow.

Toby had expected to be overwhelmed when he walked into the station today. He'd tried not to let himself believe he'd magnified the resemblance, but he'd still had to brace himself against the door when he saw Chris hunched at the desk on the phone, frowning down at his tapping pen. In a shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off muscled forearms. Toby had wanted to tell the detective everything: how lonely the last years of prison had been without him, how he was still trying hard to forgive him for dying.

He'd wanted to ask why he left Toby behind.

Toby squeezed the lipstick in his hand. He was just missing red for that pretty mouth.

He'd savoured the humiliation today when he told Stabler he'd been dressed like this last night. Like the sharp burn of tequila, shame that stretched all the way from his toes and the tips of his fingers to raise the hairs on his scalp. He'd hoped for more of a reaction, but the detective had taken it like business as usual. It probably was in his line of work. He hadn't called him a bitch or shoved him into a wall or told him Vern got it right.

Chris could sit across a table and feign indifference, pretend to be someone else altogether, but they'd played that game before. It just took time and patience, and maybe a stabbing or an old friend threatening to flip for the FBI, and everything would be good again.

That wasn't me, Tobe. I'm dead, remember? You wanted me out of your life so I left you alone.

Bullshit, Toby thought. You left me standing on that balcony so I could never get away.

He leaned close to the mirror and laid a careful line of Scarlet Siren Gloss along his bottom lip, traced along the bow of his top lip, straightened and checked his reflection. This was how he defied Chris now. 

As the interview rolled to its end, Toby had waited with tingling fingers for the moment when Stabler would tell him to call if he thought of anything else and hand over his card. Toby put down the lipstick and picked up the business card off the sink, turned it over in his fingers. Detective Olivia Benson. A phone number and an e-mail address. This was as close as he could get. For Stabler Toby had been nothing but a barely useful lead, forgotten the moment the paperwork was done.

Toby had thought he'd be okay when he got out. And he was, most of the time. The work of rejoining the world and the pressure of appearing okay for his family and the joy of being with Holly had kept Chris in the background, like the sharp ache of arthritis. Toby had a life to rebuild, a family to repair. He had a job and all the resources and distractions a parolee could wish for. He had all the freedoms he'd waited eight years to savour and it was only when he crawled into his cold bed that he wanted to drag Chris back into the world to remind him that he'd stolen all of these things away. And he wanted Chris to curl up behind him, and tell him to get the fuck over it.

And so Toby had gone looking for more distractions. It was almost surprising how easy it was for a lost ex-con to find Franco's, home of a thousand anonymous fucks. A loser addict by night, backsliding in carefully-controlled portions, but he'd kept himself afloat by day, another justice system success story right up until he found Chris was alive and well in Manhattan, and the ache had exploded into blazing need, tangled and raw.

Toby's cock didn't want to hear about the shortcomings of Elliot Stabler. When the Martin Miller's London Dry ran out, you made do with Gordon's.

Even with the sting of two and a half years tacked on by Chris's scheming, with the lingering grime of the deaths of Vern Schillinger and all the Aryans on his conscience, Toby had stared across the table at Detective Stabler and he'd wanted, like a dog eyeing a bone. He'd wanted to know if the detective would know how to make Toby feel anything like the jumbling whirl of emotions Chris had ripped out of him. Or if he'd just let Toby drag him into a back room and blow him, or if he'd be willing to parrot all the apologies and promises of love Toby needed to hear. It seemed unlikely.

He laid down the card and stared at the man in the mirror. That suit he'd worn today, that was the stranger. But this weakling, this absurdity in a dress, Toby knew exactly who he was. Toby could take him out, just be him for the night.

It seemed unlikely that Toby was going to find that same numb pleasure in the anonymous dregs of the meatpacking district when something that walked and talked like Chris was within groping distance. 

He'd given up alcohol, cocaine, heroin and Chris Keller, and now the sweet bitter rush of climbing into a dress and going out to get fucked up the ass had been soured by murder and a morning explaining himself to Chris's law-abiding twin. Toby didn't know what he'd been looking for in all those dank bathroom stalls, but he hadn't found it.

He turned around and wrenched the shower to hot, stripped the dress over his head.

There were no vices left.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Are you trying to offend everybody today, or did O'Halloran and Warner just have it coming?"

"She screwed up."

"It was a preliminary diagnosis."

Elliot clamped his jaw shut. If Warner had been clearer about that, they could have saved themselves a day. He pushed his way into the building, let Olivia catch the door behind him.

"What's eating you?"

"People who can't do their jobs."

Olivia cocked an eyebrow, and Elliot shut his mouth. Warner should have been clearer.

She left it alone as they headed back to the elevator.

Elliot rubbed warmth into his hands. What was eating him was seeing Kathy come down the stairs last night, all dressed up, startling like a deer in headlights when she saw Elliot in the kitchen. As if she didn't know Elliot was coming to pick up Kathleen and the twins, as if she wasn't deliberately sticking it in his face that she was going out to dinner with another man. And then she blamed him for being there at six-thirty.

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd shown up early to pick up his kids; his work hours changed, so he came when he could. Was he supposed to drive laps around the neighbourhood until seven? Why wouldn't he be pissed?

And Kathy had given it right back, bitter words spat both ways until Kathy grabbed her coat and slammed out and Elliot was left standing amongst kitchen cabinets he'd installed himself, by the table where he and Kathy had taught the kids their manners, still wearing his wedding ring as his ex-wife went on a date. He'd never noticed when she stopped wearing hers.

Elliot could feel Olivia's sideways looks in the elevator, but he kept his eyes trained on the doors and wished her into silence. He'd been a prick. He knew it, but all he'd been able to see were the earrings he gave Kathy for the twins' birth, casually thrown on to seduce another man. 

Dinner with Kathleen and the twins had been cold and awkward, his and Kathy's yelling still echoing in their ears. Elliot had resisted the urge to interrogate them about who this guy was, when Kathy started dating, how often. None of them would have been on his side. Kathleen had never made it a secret that she blamed Elliot for the divorce, and Elizabeth had taken her lead. Dickie didn't give anything away. He wished Maureen had been there: she wouldn't take his side either, but she didn't seem to be carrying Kathleen's resentment.

He couldn't help hoping Kathy's night out was just as ruined as his. Elliot hadn't even thought about dating. He hadn't started making plans for the future that didn't involve his wife and his kids, one family. He touched his ring, turned it around his finger. The paperwork was trundling along, but he hadn't made plans to take this off.

The doors opened and Olivia led the way out. "You need to get out of the house, Elliot. Make some friends."

"You want me to start dating?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just start with making some friends? Look, I don't have any plans tonight. You want to go for drinks after work? Practise having a social life?"

He could live without the sarcasm, but drinks with Liv sounded a hell of a lot better than going back to that empty apartment. "You sure you can put up with me?"

It was the closest he could get to an apology, but she smiled to show she knew that was what it was. "Since that case is going back to homicide, we can get back to the Leo Markstrom case."

Elliot held back his sigh. They had nothing but dead ends. "You want to re-interview?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia skimmed the file in her lap. "Beecher used to be a lawyer."

Elliot flipped the indicator to turn onto Atlantic Avenue. "Criminal law?"

"Doesn't say, but it was his second DUI. The first one he pleaded off on a technicality, never even paid a fine. His victim was an eight year-old girl. I'd say that's why the judge went for the max. DUI, vehicular manslaughter, four to fifteen. Looks like he wasn't a model prisoner. Served eight years, paroled six weeks ago."

"You really think he's got more information?"

"He was holding something back."

Elliot thought so too; he just wasn't sure it was about their killer. He suspected Beecher kept a lot of things back, but it was worth a try. They were out of leads.

"Take the next left; should be number thirty-two."

Elliot pulled up in front of an old brownstone, recently remodelled and turned into apartments. Standard for Park Slope. Elliot flipped up his collar against the wind as he climbed the front steps to the glass door, still littered with Halloween decals. He hit the buzzer.

"Hello?" crackled Beecher's voice.

"This is Detective Stabler. I was wondering if I could come up and ask you a few more questions."

There was a long pause, enough time for Elliot and Olivia to exchange a look.

"I'll be right down."

Another look passed between them. That was a sure sign there was something to hide. A minute passed, another. Olivia asked, "You think he's crawling out a window?" just as feet appeared on the stairs, Beecher coming into view through the glass. A look passed over his face when he saw them.

He was wearing jeans and a grey pullover, hair quickly combed, glasses gone. Nothing of the expensive suit from the other day and no women's clothes, but he didn't look like an ex-con either. He looked ordinary. He could have been a school teacher, or an off-duty cop. Or a guy who worked in real estate.

Beecher opened the door, focused completely on Elliot. "Detectives-"

Olivia jumped in. "Thanks for seeing us."

He threw her an irritated glance. "I told you what I knew. I talked to the sketch-artist."

"We just have a few follow-up questions, Mr Beecher."

"This really isn't a good time."

"Would you rather we dragged you back to the precinct?"

There was a look of betrayal in his eyes as he turned to Elliot. "Are you arresting me?"

Olivia held her ground. "It would only take a couple of calls-"

Something moved behind him and they were forgotten, Beecher's face softening as he looked down into the wide blue eyes of a girl who couldn't have been more than nine years old, pale skin, blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail, slinking out the door and clutching his shirt. Beecher had a daughter? And they'd just threatened to drag her ex-con father away in front of her. Great.

He bobbed down to look up at her and put a hand around her waist. "Holly, these are friends of mine." He glared up at them, a look in his eye that dared them to contradict him. "This is my friend Olivia, and this is Elliot."

Elliot and Olivia both smiled at her, but she only burrowed closer to Beecher. It was regressive behaviour for a nine year-old. Elliot leaned down. "Nice to meet you, Holly. How old are you?"

She looked to her father, and Elliot paid closer attention still.

"You can tell him."

Holly bit her lip. "Ten."

Beecher swept his daughter's hair out of her face, a move Elliot might have made with his own. "Good girl. Sweetheart, Elliot and Olivia came to visit because they need my help with something. I need to talk with Elliot." She clung tighter, but Beecher pretended not to notice. "But you know, somebody told me that Olivia loves cookies."

Olivia ran with it, gave Holly a coy smile. "Somebody let my secret out."

"Maybe you could take her upstairs, offer her a taste of the ones we made yesterday?"

"You baked cookies? What kind?" Olivia asked.

Barely loud enough to hear, Holly replied, "Chocolate coconut."

"That sounds delicious. I would love to try your cookies, Holly."

Holly gave Olivia a long stare, looking deadly serious.

Beecher gave Holly a nudge. "It's okay. Promise."

Holly finally nodded and went inside. When Olivia moved to follow her, as she slipped past Beecher he caught her wrist. Too tight - Elliot tensed, but Olivia just looked him in the eye, warning. Beecher ignored it. "With your job, you must interview a lot of traumatised kids."

"I do."

Beecher glanced the way his daughter had gone. "She's one."

Olivia nodded once, and Beecher let her go. Elliot didn't doubt she'd take a good look around while she was up there.

Beecher stepped out, right into Elliot's personal space, a hand settling on Elliot's bicep. "Do you mind having this conversation out here? I'd rather have neighbours watch than any chance of Holly overhearing."

"Sure." Elliot edged back until Beecher's hand fell away. He'd never imagined the guy might have a kid. The gentle father he'd just seen didn't jive with the self-deprecating man he'd met a few days ago, and it definitely didn't fit with the promiscuous transvestite witness. What the hell was the guy thinking, going to places like that when he had a kid at home?

Beecher moved a few steps down and leaned against the rail, wrapping his arms against the cold, probably wishing he'd thrown on a jacket. Elliot joined him. He would have preferred to take this inside, but if talking on the front stoop with a wind-chill put Beecher off guard, so be it. At least Elliot had a proper coat.

"Can I ask what happened to your daughter?"

"She was kidnapped when she was six." Beecher stared him right in the eye as he said it, didn't shift around in guilt like most parents of victims.

Elliot looked back to the door, wondered if Olivia was getting the details. "I'm sorry." Poor kid. No wonder she clung. Four years ago: it would have been while Beecher was inside. It must have been hell on him. The daughter was going to be the key to connecting with Beecher, so Elliot pushed a little more. "How is she doing?"

"She doesn't trust strangers. She has nightmares, but not like she used to."

"Time can make a big difference."

"It has."

"Do you mind me asking about her mother?"

"Dead."

"I'm sorry." Elliot searched for a way to ask, wondered if this was even relevant-

"Yes, I was married to her mother. A long and very heterosexual marriage."

Elliot shut his mouth. He had trouble believing that, but he needed to get some ground back. "It must be hard, doing it on your own."

"She's the only part of this that isn't hard." A faint smile touched his eyes, and it transformed his whole face, made him handsome. "My last couple of years inside, I didn't think about anything but making up the years I'd lost as a father. Nothing was getting in the way of getting home to my family." Talking about Holly made him forget whatever else was on his mind, brought his guard down completely. "I worry about her not having a mother, but I'm ten times the parent I was before I went in. I was a workaholic and a drunk. A selfish fuck-up and I didn't know it."

"It sounds like you've turned yourself around." The way Holly had clung to him suggested it was more than just talk.

"Seeing your kids for an hour a week, or not even that - it refocuses your priorities."

Elliot tried to imagine being that cut off from his kids. It wasn't as big a stretch as he would have liked it to be. He grabbed what time he could, weekends and dinners, but he was learning just how much parenting came in those little moments as Dickie came rushing through the house on his way to his friends', or when Kathleen came downstairs late to raid the fridge, or while he was driving Elizabeth to basketball games. Booking formal time out of their busy teenage lives wasn't the same, and it only took a fight with Kathy to make that time a total disaster.

Beecher leaned close, sudden and intense. "Do you have kids, Detective?"

"Four."

Beecher didn't raise an eyebrow at the number, like most parents of only children. "All healthy and happy?"

Healthy, sure. Happy was a variable. None of them had ever been kidnapped. "Yeah, I guess."

"Every night, you should hug them and say a prayer of thanks. You don't have any idea how lucky you are."

"It's not luck that I've never got behind the wheel drunk off my ass."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

Elliot kicked himself. He was supposed to be earning trust, not bringing Beecher down.

"I know what I did, Detective. Believe me, I... I know what I did to that family. And mine. I just mean... You never know how a few simple turns might have changed your life. How easily you could have been a different person. Without your wife, or your four kids." Beecher's eyes blazed, and Elliot felt transparent, like Beecher knew Elliot was in a war with his own temper, nine-tenths of the way through a divorce, losing his grip on his children.

Elliot finally put his finger on the intensity in Beecher's attention. "Have we met?"

That surprised him. "Do I look familiar?"

"No, it's just the way you've been looking at me. Like you're waiting for me to realise we went to school together or something."

Beecher huffed, some quiet joke Elliot wasn't privy to. "I can tell you for certain we've never met. I'd remember you." He said it with total certainty, which that only made Elliot more sure there was some connection he'd missed. But time was passing, and Olivia could only entertain Holly for so long.

"I have to ask you about the description you gave us. We need more information."

Beecher's face closed. "I described him as well as I could."

"I don't think you did. I think you were holding back on us."

Beecher shook his head, but for the first time he looked out at the street, instead of Elliot. Olivia was right.

"Tobias, I think you want us to catch this guy. I think it matters enough that you came down to the station even though it took you the whole night to convince yourself to do it. Don't let us down now."

He had him. Beecher was teetering. Elliot reached without thought, but Beecher leaned in, so he went with it. Put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, felt the sigh. This was what he needed. Elliot rubbed, reassuring, made it personal.

The door behind them crashed open and Holly threw herself against her father. Elliot was forgotten as Beecher pulled her up into his arms and dipped his head to listen to what she was whispering in his ear.

Olivia stood in the doorway, looking concerned. She shot Elliot a questioning look, and he shook his head. He needed more time.

Beecher hugged Holly close. "She didn't mean to upset you." She whispered in his ear again. "You don't have to. You don't have to talk to anyone."

Sceptical young eyes looked up at Olivia. She wasn't going to leave her ex-con father in the hands of police.

Beecher let Holly slide down to her feet. "I'm sorry, detectives. I can't help you."

Last ditch: Elliot knew Beecher's weak spot now. "His parents are waiting on news, Tobias. They need to know what happened to their son."

Beecher huffed, not taken by the cheap gambit, but Holly stared at Elliot, and then up at her father. "Like Gary?"

Beecher's face twisted. "Yeah, Honey. Like Gary."

Elliot wondered who Gary was.

Holly looked at Elliot for a long time, and then reached up and rubbed her father's shoulder. It was a strangely adult gesture. She said, "You should help," and went inside. Beecher didn't take his eyes off her until she was gone. 

He moved down the steps to the sidewalk, arms wrapped round his stomach. Heaved a deep breath. "He told me his name was Mike, but I wouldn't put a lot of stock in that. I don't usually give anyone my real name. He liked to give it rough. Always left bruises."

Bile rose in Elliot's throat. "He raped you?"

"No."

Olivia backed up a couple of steps, for the illusion of privacy. Not so far she'd miss a word.

"It can be difficult to admit things that-"

"I've been raped, Detective. You don't think I was the top of the food chain in Oz, do you?"

It shouldn't have surprised Elliot - a lawyer in a prison for rapists and murderers, never mind the big ugly clue of his promiscuous behaviour. But it caught him off-guard, and it took a moment to re-gather, to shift things around in his head. A few moments more to remind himself Beecher was his witness, not a case. "This guy never assaulted you?"

"Some of us like it rough."

Particularly rape victims who hadn't dealt with their self-loathing, but Elliot wasn't here to be a therapist. "Did you have sex with Mike that night?"

"No."

"How often?"

"Twice. The last time was two weeks ago."

"And he was always rough?"

Mouth tight, Beecher nodded. He wasn't staring at Elliot now.

Gently, Elliot asked, "Is that why you went back?"

"Yeah."

Olivia stepped back in, voice soft. "You don't seem to have a lot of trouble believing your lover raped and murdered someone."

Elliot winced inside. Usually he was the one to stomp in with the rough questions, but this time he'd fallen into the role of confidante and Olivia had the job of keeping Beecher honest.

Beecher didn't flinch, but as always, he directed his answer to Elliot. Misogynist? Defensive? Or just clinging to the nice cop? Elliot still hadn't nailed him down. "'Lover' is something of an overstatement. We fucked. In prison you learn to live with all sorts of people you never would have gone near when you were a contract lawyer with a nice, nuclear family." Beecher paused, gaze drifting off in the middle distance.

"What is it?"

"He'd done time. He even mentioned it, once." He closed his eyes, reaching for a memory. "O-something... Otisville? Three years, five years, something like that."

Best lead they had so far. "That's great, Tobias. Do you remember exactly what he said?"

"No."

"Try to remember."

"I don't."

"The exact words could provide the details we need to-"

"He said I was so well-used, I reminded him of that time he jumped in on the end of gangbanging some fag in the laundry at Otisville. So, definitely Otisville. And I guess he worked in the laundry. Does that help?" There was ice in his eyes.

Elliot shuddered. "Yeah. That helps."

Beecher came up the steps, all the earlier vulnerability switched off like a light. "Look, I need to go check on my daughter. Let her see I haven't been arrested. Are we done here?"

"We're done for now, but..." Elliot scrambled to get a card out of his pocket, doubtful Beecher had kept the one Olivia gave him the other day, glad when he took this one. "Thanks for your help."

As Beecher was unlocking the door, Olivia asked, "Where was your daughter while you were out getting roughed up by ex-cons?"

He didn't flicker. "With my mother. My mother raised her after my wife died; after all these years I couldn't just rip her out of there. Shared custody seemed the best solution."

After one long last look at Elliot he went inside. The door closed behind him, and he never looked back as he climbed the stairs.

Elliot let out a long breath. That was rough, but least they had a starting point. They could show Beecher's sketch around Otisville staff, tell O'Halloran to start cross-checking the DNA.

Olivia looked over as they headed back to the car. "You believe him?"

"Yeah. I think he'd lay bare his entire life if his daughter asked him." Elliot would. He'd do anything if one of his girls looked at him like that. Of course, he wasn't sure his kids would look at him like that anymore. Kathleen hadn't even trusted him enough to call when she got the DUI. "Did she talk to you?"

"She barely talked at all until I started asking her about her father. That's when she sprinted downstairs. Did Beecher tell you her history?"

He circled around the car to take the wheel. "He said she was kidnapped a few years back. He didn't get into details."

"She only told me her dad would never let anyone hurt her, then worried if we were doing anything to him."

They climbed in, and Elliot took a moment to think. However much Beecher had failed Holly, it seemed like he'd made it up to her - in her eyes, anyway. "What was it like upstairs?"

"Boxes everywhere. The kitchen seemed unpacked, but there wasn't much furniture. Holly said they moved out of her grandmother's two weeks ago. She watched me like a hawk."

"What do you think of Beecher? Do you still think he was ignoring you because he has a problem with women?"

Olivia smiled. "No, I think it's because he has a little crush on you."

Elliot rolled his eyes.

"I'll tell you one thing for sure. You missed out on some really great cookies."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The microwave beeped, but it took a couple more minutes for Elliot to find the will to get up. He shuffled out to the kitchen and took the shrink wrap off the beef and veg, promising himself he'd cook a real meal tomorrow. If he got home before eight.

A beer and a sheet of paper towel, his feet up on the coffee table and a Jets game on the TV. Every bachelor's dream. He'd been tempted to go straight to bed, but he'd never sleep this early so it was either zone out to football or deal with the file of papers that had been sitting on the counter for a week. That was how twenty years of marriage ended. Not with a bang, or a whimper, but endless pages of legal documents with little yellow 'sign here' post-its.

He'd tried calling Maureen earlier, then Lizzie. Tried not to be paranoid that they hadn't answered. Left it at two kids, because if all four didn't pick up, he'd really think it was personal.

He wondered if this was what Tobias Beecher's home life looked like. Or did he prance around his house in a dress even when he wasn't headed out to a bar? He didn't seem like a guy who pranced. He didn't seem like a guy who'd wear a dress, so what the hell did Elliot know?

He didn't know why Beecher had stuck in his mind. That constant stare had something to do with it, like he was waiting for Elliot to do something, or remember something, or... something. There was something about the jumble of pieces, the way none of it fit together. How did he let men abuse him like that, and then come home and hug his daughter? Elliot had seen enough to know Beecher was right about being a good father. Maybe Elliot just wanted to know how he kept all the dirt in his life from affecting his relationship with his kid.


	3. A social life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 2:  
> Toby got all dressed up for another round of cheap dirty sex, but couldn't bring himself to go. Elliot found out his almost ex-wife is dating, and didn't take it well. Elliot and Olivia went back to re-interview Toby. Elliot was surprised to learn that Toby has a daughter, and that Toby was a victim of rape. With some prodding Toby admitted that he had a rough but consensual sexual history with their murder suspect.

Toby had been fighting this itch since he left Elliot Stabler on the doorstep of his building. He'd told himself he'd kicked alcohol and drugs and he could keep away from this not-quite-Chris. Toby knew he was in deep trouble, because he'd barely thought of martinis or the bliss of heroin in the last two months, and all his idle thoughts of going back to Franco's had stayed idle. Instead he'd been consumed with composing a thousand excuses for calling Elliot Stabler. Sister Pete would be proud, because he'd resisted every time.

Until now. Toby stared up at the courthouse until the taxi driver asked him if he was okay. Toby slid out, forced himself to stroll up the steps like this suit wasn't some sort of costume. Nikos Perro's trial for the murder of Leo Markstrom concluded today. Nikos Perro, known to Toby as 'Mike', or just as a solidly satisfying fuck.

Up through the doors and the metal detectors, waiting for someone to yell and a phalanx of officers to fall on him, to beat him and drag him back to his cell.

Toby didn't even know if Detective Clone was going to be here today. Who knew if a detective had time to sit around in court once his testimony was done? That slim question was what made this okay, because if Stabler might not be here, Toby must be here for the conviction.

He wandered the corridors between rushing clerks and worried civilians and way too many guards until he found the right courtroom. He hovered at the door, and then backed up and took a seat on a bench outside.

It took a whole lot of imagination to pretend that sidewalk interrogation had been anything like talking to Chris, but Toby had taken that face and body and the way Stabler had leaned in to hear more about Holly, and maybe it had been a little like the way Chris badgered him for stories when Toby came to visit him on death row. He'd taken the way Stabler snapped about Toby calling him lucky and tweaked it - a harsher tone, the lip curled in a sneer, and there were Chris's familiar hackles.

When Toby really wanted something to savour he remembered the rush when almost-Chris rubbed his shoulder. For a split second Toby had braced himself for the revelation: to hear a soft, 'It's me, Tobe, didn't think I'd leave the mortal coil without you, did you?' That was when the detective lost any chance of Toby sharing details of the man who pounded his ass. At least until Holly arrived, bringing Detective Benson and the crash of reality.

Toby wanted Chris again. Even if it was just a curt dismissal in the corridor, he would fold it into his fantasies.

Toby had a list of questions, and he'd barely restrained himself from writing them all out on index cards to keep in his pocket. Did Stabler have any brothers? Any secret twins? Did he have any idea there'd been a doppelganger out there in the world? What made him choose to be a cop, rather than a professional conman? Toby had had to remind himself that he'd be lucky if he got anything more than that curt dismissal now the case was done. Even if Stabler spared him a few minutes, Toby was hardly going to ask any of those questions. If Stabler was here at all. Toby stared up at the doors, and wondered how much attention it would draw if he poked his head in.

The doors swung open and Toby was on his feet. People trickled out, fresh strange faces with every swing of the door until Stabler sauntered through, chin high. Even the fourth time, it was like leaning over that balcony, watching Chris's broken body draw breath. Toby caught his own breath when he saw Stabler had his left arm in a sling, but there was no cast. The good detective hadn't broken his arm coming off his motorbike after a hold-up.

The neatly-suited red-head with him had the aura of an ADA, and the pair of them looked pleased. Toby was wondering how to break in when Stabler saw Toby across the corridor and smiled, no idea how it stoked the fire. And more, when he excused himself to come over.

"Guilty, then?" asked Toby.

"All counts. You know you could have gone in?"

"And make another enemy in the state correctional system? No thanks." Stare up at another cunt judge, passing judgement? Hell, no. "I just wanted to make sure he's done."

Stabler bought his response without a blink. "He's done." Toby supposed his excuse was more obvious than 'You look like my dead lover and this was the least suspicious reason I could find for seeing you again.' Though Toby hadn't got as far as planning how to string this meeting out, and now there was an awkward silence stretching. Toby couldn't ask him to lunch. The detective would think Toby wanted to fuck him. Which he did, but he wasn't that much of an optimist. He just wanted to stare at Chris Keller in a starched shirt and tie. And a sling. "What happened to your arm?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Would you believe I was shot in the elbow by Nazis?"

Toby almost choked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I hate Nazis."

Toby meant it, but Stabler chuckled. "I'm not too fond of them myself."

Toby had stumbled into some crazed parallel universe. He'd actually managed to connect, but any moment Stabler was going to check his watch and-

Stabler checked his watch. "Hey, listen. I've got some time, and I'm in no rush to get back to desk duty. You want to catch a bite?"

Toby reeled. Stabler just asked him. "Yeah. Yes. That'd be great." He could hardly believe it. "I'm guessing you know what's good around here."

"'Good' might be taking it a little far, but I know a place." He swung on that same navy coat he'd been wearing when Toby first saw him outside Franco's, draping it over the shoulder with the sling. In Oz Toby had never thought to imagine Chris dressed up; his occasional fantasies of a real life never stretched beyond relaxing at home in jeans, or better yet, leisurely naked sleep-ins that wouldn't be interrupted for count. Chris would have looked good enough to eat, in a shirt and tie and navy overcoat.

The diner was just around the corner, a few hundred yards of New York slush and they were shrugging their coats off again as they stepped into the sudden heat. Toby tried not to stare as Stabler slid into his seat, as he picked up the menu with his free hand and scanned it, had his choice picked out and the menu discarded before his eyes hit the bottom of the page. The same leisurely comfort in his own space as Chris, making Toby wonder if this detective had the same desperation and fear beneath, or a whole different set of insecurities. What kept the good guys awake at night?

Stabler rearranged his arm in the sling, and a band of pale skin caught Toby's eye. His wedding ring was gone.

"The burgers are tolerable. Keep away from the mac cheese."

Chris liked mac cheese day. 

Stabler gave the waitress his order, and Toby asked for the same so he didn't have to give up studying his companion. "So what is it people in the world talk about these days?" Toby couldn't figure out why Stabler had invited him out. Maybe he thought Toby had information on something else. Maybe he wanted to save him from his degenerate life. Toby didn't care, would gladly drag out the chit chat, cataloguing the similarities until Stabler got to the point. Maybe Stabler's nose was a little sharper, his cheeks a little thinner, but his eyes were exactly the same shifting shades of blue.

"Work, mostly. But I'd rather not." Stabler shrugged. "We can talk about your job."

"Administrative assistant for a real estate attorney."

"Sounds interesting." His tone said otherwise.

"It's a better job than most parolees can hope for." It was like going back to remedial school for a corporate contract lawyer. Toby didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse, being this close to the job he used to be so good at, but it beat the hell out of everything he would have found on the banks at the parole office. 

Elliot unrolled his knife and fork from the paper napkin. "How was your Christmas?"

It was surreal. Instead of looking forward to an extra hour of visiting time before choking down tinned turkey, he'd woken to Holly bouncing on his bed with a carefully-wrapped present. "It was perfect. How was yours?"

Stabler's eyes cut away. "Quiet." Of course it was - he'd just taken off his wedding ring. It was probably the hardest Christmas he'd ever had.

"Tell me about your kids. How many do you have?"

"Four. Three girls and a boy." He took out his wallet and paused, like he'd just remembered this wasn't just some guy from work. Toby waited, and finally Stabler flipped it open and pushed it across.

Toby almost couldn't look. The idea of little Chris Kellers... He leaned over the photos. None of them looked like Chris, not even the boy. If Chris had had kids, he would have loved them more fiercely, more protectively than he loved Toby, but that wouldn't have made him a good father. "Twins?"

"Yeah. Dickie and Lizzie; they turn thirteen next month. That's Maureen; she's twenty-one, and Kathleen's seventeen."

They were older than Toby expected. "You started young."

"Too young. But they turned out pretty good."

"Your house must be a zoo." Toby missed it. Holly and Gary squabbling over toys, Harry crying, Genevieve singing to soothe him. Holly was so quiet now, and too often she wasn't there at all. 

"It was." Stabler hesitated, and Toby held his breath for the confidence. "Their mother and I are separated."

Toby nodded. "I noticed the ring was gone." So it hadn't been a string of divorces. Stabler had been a solid family man, until it finally crumbled.

He looked down at his left hand, spread his fingers. "It took a while to take it off." His hands were just right. Probably had the same weight-lifting calluses, judging by those thick, powerful shoulders. Chris's rough hands had been exquisite on Toby's sensitive cock.

Their burgers showed up and they tucked in. Stabler slipped out of his sling and lifted his shoulders at Toby's look. "I'm out of it in a week, thank god." He wolfed his food down like a hungry guy, no sense of show. When his tongue darted out to catch stray drips of sauce it was totally unselfconscious, no idea of how Toby imagined chasing it inside. Chris had always known, used to chase every lick with a glance, just to prove he had Toby's attention.

Toby wondered if Stabler had been screwing women the way Toby had been fucking men, or if he'd been keeping it in his pants. Which led to Toby imagining Stabler taking care of himself. Chris had been an exhibitionist; if Toby couldn't satisfy him, Chris'd lie in his bunk and tell Toby all about it as he tugged his own cock. Toby didn't think Stabler would be like that.

"When did you split with your wife?"

"We separated just over a year ago." 

Not out of the blue after laying his eyes on Toby, tugged by an inexplicable past life memory.

He let out a breath, rubbed his eyebrow. Even the angle of his eyebrows was just right. "I still can't believe how empty the apartment is when I wake up in the morning. Can't believe I used to grouse about getting them ready for school. Now it's every second weekend, and dinner whenever I can find the time."

Four months ago, Toby would have counted that as unimaginable luxury. "I know how it is. You're supposed to be around to help your kids with their homework every night, to see them coming and going with their friends, and instead it's all formal appointments for awkward small talk and you realise you sound like your Aunt Mona doing the annual Christmas interrogation, and you don't understand how you can try so hard and still know so little about their lives."

Stabler stared at him like he'd just uncovered some kind of deep, dark secret, instead of describing the nightly angst of every absent father. "It doesn't seem like that between you and Holly."

"That's all Holly and I had for years. It's what I still have with my son one weekend a month, if I'm lucky."

"You have a son?"

"Harry's nine. He lives with my wife's parents in San Diego." Toby pulled a photo from his own wallet.

Stabler took a good, long look. "He's handsome."

"He has his mother's genes." Genevieve's dark hair and eyes, that same cool beauty. He took back the picture for another look. It was the two of them from the week after Toby got out, Harry stiffly bearing Toby's arm around his shoulders. In photos Toby could see a resemblance: something in the shape of his face, the turn of his mouth, but in person it seemed to disappear. "He came over for the Christmas break and I grilled him for details about his life, but I've never met any of his friends, never been to his school."

"Why is he with your in-laws?"

"When Gen died, my parents took Holly and... but they couldn't take care of a baby. My children were split up."

Stabler grimaced. "I'm sorry."

Toby shrugged. Just one more piece of damage.

"But you're out now."

"Yeah?"

"Why is Harry still with your in-laws?"

Toby gritted his teeth. "He wasn't even twelve months old when I went in. He never laid eyes on me until he was seven."

"So you get to know him. One weekend a month isn't going to do that."

He was here to pretend he was talking to Chris, not to have his decisions questioned by someone who didn't know the first thing about his life. "They're the only parents he's known." Jonah and Marta had never forgiven Toby for what he did to their daughter and grandchildren, but they loved Harry and they were raising him well. Holly wanted to be with Toby, and in their own fucked up way, they were good for each other. Harry was another story. 

"Toby, he's your blood."

Toby froze. Even his heart held, for half a second. It had been years, but Stabler's voice reached back and Toby could smell prison soap, taste the memory of Chris's inexplicable interest in caring for Toby, and his own naive affections. Chris had been right about seeing them then, but Stabler wasn't. This second-rate copy didn't get to tell him how to be a father. "You think I haven't wrenched my heart out over this decision? He's happy where he is, and I've done enough damage. I'm not going to tear up his life to make me whole." Toby swallowed, calmed his voice. "I'm hoping he'll come to high school in New York. He likes math, so maybe Stuyvesant, maybe Brooklyn Tech." It was a long shot, but hope wasn't rational.

Stabler stabbed his fries, and Toby shut his mouth. This was the judgement he'd been waiting for. Stabler's jaw was working, chewing on his anger. One minute he was a million miles from the lover Toby ached for, the next it was like Chris was sitting right here, and Toby wanted to touch him.

"You should tell me to shut the hell up."

Toby shook his head. That didn't sound like Chris at all.

"You've done a good job with Holly. I've seen plenty of kids who've been through bad experiences and had a harder time adjusting."

"That was my parents, not me." What the hell did Stabler know about how Holly was adjusting, anyway?

He wasn't backing down. "You must be doing something right. Olivia said she was very protective of you."

"Your partner? She didn't seem to like me."

"She was just doing her job."

Toby leaned in. "What did they talk about?" Holly had just shrugged and told him nothing.

"Liv said Holly just kept asking about you. If we were mad at you. If we were going to put you in jail."

Toby wondered how long it would be before Holly really trusted that he was home for good. Longer than Toby, maybe. "I vouched for you, so if you ever decide you want to arrest me, you make sure someone else puts the cuffs on, okay?"

"You think I'm going to arrest you for something?"

It had crossed Toby's mind that that might be what this was about. "I stopped believing my life couldn't be fucked up again a long time ago, but you can call off the tail, Detective Stabler; I won't even j-walk, these days."

"I'm not here to arrest you. And you're not my witness anymore. You can call me Elliot."

But can I call you Chris, Toby wondered?

Elliot leaned on his elbow, eyes wide and blue. "It must be a hell of a job, rebuilding your life, Tobias."

Chris had never called him that. "Friends call me Toby."

"Toby." He didn't say it right. He made it just a name, without the needy growl or the bite of patience growing short. "Eight years is a long time to spend inside. I've seen plenty of guys walk out with good intentions, and never get half as far as you have."

Toby wondered if Elliot was counting Franco's in his measure of success.

"Seriously, Toby. You've got a steady job, a good relationship with your daughter. You had the balls to come and help us ID Markstrom's killer. That's not nothing. I wish I could hope for this kind of a future for more of the people I deal with."

"You're not talking about ex-cons. You're talking about rape victims."

Elliot held his ground. "Not a lot of men can admit they were raped."

Was that what this was about? "In prison, it isn't exactly classified information."

Is that how he could hold Elliot's attention? Play the victim? Toby had whored better parts of himself for less, but he doubted that was anything to hope for, here.

Toby pushed Elliot back to talking about his kids. Elliot obliviously played along, rambling about teaching them to play basketball and baseball. He'd taken the twins to see a Jets game just before Christmas. As Elliot talked about football the sentences muddied together, and Toby found himself watching his lips curl around the words, letting Chris's voice wash over him. Chris rarely talked about sports. He played whatever was going but never small-talked about teams. For all his expertise in wrestling, he'd never once mentioned a professional wrestler. Chris hadn't had any interest in watching other people doing anything he couldn't manipulate. He could watch Toby for hours.

Elliot checked his watch. "Dammit. I have to get back to work."

And there was the wrench of comedown, faster and harder than any drug Toby had taken. No one was going to be dealing this one on Toby's street corner. "Well. Thanks for this. I don't think I knew how much I needed it." Now he knew exactly how much he wanted it.

"A mediocre burger?"

"An adult conversation. This is the first time I've had lunch with someone who wasn't immediate family since I got out."

"It's the first time I've eaten with someone who wasn't family or a cop in longer than that."

"When you suggested lunch I thought you were taking the long road around to interrogate me."

Elliot smiled. "I was just wondering how you were doing." Elliot hesitated, looking awkward. Not like Chris. "You want to do this again? Next week, maybe?"

"Yeah." Toby hoped he kept the exclamation mark out of his voice.

"Do you have my card?"

Of course he did - softened and worn, stuffed in his pocket right now, where his fingers could find it and worry it for a little fix whenever he needed it. "I'm not sure, maybe somewhere..."

Elliot dug out another. "Here."

Toby would keep this one pristine. Under glass, maybe. One to touch, one to admire from afar. Chris and Elliot, made of three-and-a-half-by-two paper. "I used to have cards." He grabbed a napkin, took the pen Elliot offered and wrote his own number down. Wondered if he would lose his parole for thieving a pen from an officer of the law.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot didn't call. Toby didn't realise how high his hopes had risen until they crashed.

Elliot had probably just been being polite when he said he wanted to meet up again. Or maybe he did some digging on Toby, hadn't liked what he found. Or maybe Toby was just forgotten already. 

Chris's voice suggested maybe the detective was having second thoughts about regular lunches with an ex-con who got on his knees for any thug who'd shove him around.

Yeah, well. Toby could happily report he hadn't been doing any of that lately. Leo Markstrom's murder had soured that hobby.

Toby knew what Chris would do with the men who'd left their fingerprints over Toby in Franco's. He didn't know what he'd make of Elliot.

Would you snap his neck too, Chris? Or would you sit back with your hand stuffed in your pants, egging me on to fuck the look-alike, prove all over again that you own me, even from beyond the grave?

It was a ridiculous question; of course Chris would want to watch him with Elliot. Fucking narcissist.

A smile snuck up, unbidden. If only Toby could give him that show. And thank god Toby would never have to find out what Chris would do to Elliot afterwards.

"Did you need the bathroom, Dad? I'm going to have a shower."

Toby's head jerked up as his hips jerked away to face the sink. "No, Hol, you're fine." He picked up the cloth, pretended he'd been wiping something.

"Hey, do we have any old magazines? I have to take some to school tomorrow."

Toby blinked. "It's seven-thirty. You couldn't have mentioned that earlier?"

"I forgot."

"I don't think we have any. I'll give you money to buy something in the morning."

"Thanks, Dad."

She trotted off to the bathroom, twisting her long hair up into a little blonde top-knot to keep it dry. Toby was supposed to be thinking of her, not Elliot or Chris or some unholy merging of the two. She was supposed to be the difference. Think of Holly, make good choices: that was his mantra since the day he walked out. How could he have Holly in his life and still have a part of him yearn for a six-by-ten glass pod?

Elliot complicated things. Elliot easy to talk to: a father finding his way on his own. Toby could talk to him and think of Holly and think of Chris all at the same time. Toby didn't know how he was getting away with it. Elliot Stabler was supposed to be a hard-nosed detective, untrusting of anyone without a badge, and especially of the refuse that trickled out of the correctional system. It should have taken more than the empathy of another father to coax him out.

But Elliot had made the offer. He'd given Toby his card. There was no reason why Toby couldn't call. If he waited longer, Holly would be out of the shower, and he might not have another chance until tomorrow. Toby pulled out his phone.

"Stabler." Brisk and professional.

"Detective. Hi. It's Tobias Beecher."

"Oh. Toby." He sounded irritated. "I've been meaning to call you, but it's been a hellish week." The phone muffled as Elliot covered it to talk to someone. A few words of that familiar voice were enough to stir Toby. He wanted one more lunch. One more half hour to stare at that face and pretend Chris was playing oblivious to Toby's smoking stare just to tease. "Listen, I can't talk right now, and I'm going to be tied up for a while. Can I call you when I'm free?"

"Sure."

"Sorry, Toby."

"Don't worry about it."

Elliot hung up, and Toby put his phone down. That was that. Don't call me. I'll call you.


	4. Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 3:  
> Toby went to the conviction of Leo Markstrom's rapist, for no particular reason, certainly not in the hope of- Oh, hey, there's Chris Keller's clone, Detective Stabler. Surprisingly, Stabler invited him out to lunch. Even more surprisingly, they had a decent conversation, chatting about their kids, but when Toby called to meet up again, Stabler didn't seem interested.

Cragen gave him a nod as he accepted the report. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Elliot. It was a tough case."

It was surprisingly kind of the captain, considering Elliot's temper had made it all worse. "Shouldn't have gone down like that."

"Yeah, well, we're cops, not psychics. You've put in a long couple of days. Why don't you get out of here?"

Go home to that empty apartment to replay it all again? Elliot straightened. He didn't have to go home. Maybe. He'd been itching to call Toby, especially since hearing the disappointment in his voice when Elliot put him off the other day. Elliot gave Cragen an absent nod and fished out his phone on the way back to his desk.

"Hey, Elliot." Toby sounded surprised, like he'd given up already.

"Any chance you're free tonight?"

"Um. Yeah. Sure."

"You don't have Holly?"

"She's at my mother's."

It was ridiculous for Elliot to feel this eager. "My captain's kicking me out, and I need a beer like you wouldn't believe." Elliot tidied his desk, shoved a couple of folders in the drawer. "Toby?"

"A beer?"

Elliot checked his watch again. "Sorry, it's too late, isn't it? Maybe some other-"

"No, no, it's fine. I can come out for a beer. Where do you want to..."

"I know a hole in the wall on the Lower East Side." That was nearer to Brooklyn, at least. "Unless you've got a good place in your neighborhood; I'm the asshole dragging you out at-"

"No, it's, I can make it over there. It's no trouble."

"That's great." A beer and the distraction of Toby's company was exactly what Elliot needed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chris Keller was sitting in a dim corner of the wood-panelled sports bar in a shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up, eyes on a flat screen showing a football game. One amber beer rested on the table between his broad hands and one sat on a napkin in front of the empty seat across from him. Elliot was killing him with thoughtfulness.

Toby took a long breath. He could do this. One night of control was a bargain price for staring at Chris for an hour or two. Control, or he was going to make the biggest fucking idiot of himself, and he'd never have another chance. Toby could do this; he'd been in bars often enough since he got out. Of course in Franco's, he'd been focused on cock, not staring at Chris's ghost over a couple of tall frosty glasses of temptation.

It hadn't escaped his memory that his last binge had sprung from that first incredible kiss in the laundry room, Chris tasting like moonshine and love.

Elliot felt his stare, and the football game was forgotten with a wide smile. "Hey, Toby."

"Hi."

"I just asked for the pale on tap. Is that okay?"

No. But no way on earth was Toby about to tell Elliot he was an alcoholic. The beer could stay right there and get warm. He didn't sit yet. "That's fine. Do you know if the kitchen's still open? I wouldn't mind a snack." Maybe he could keep his hands occupied with fries instead of pulling on the beer.

"Maybe. Give it a go."

Fries were still on offer, thank god. Toby put in an order and went to join Elliot. "You're out of the sling."

"Finally." Elliot stretched his arm. There was a marine insignia tattoo sliding out from under the rolled-up sleeve. Maybe Elliot had killed people. Probably not as many as Chris.

"How is it being back on full duties?"

"It's been a long week. But the bad guy's gonna go down, even if he's not gonna go down for as long as we'd like, so..." Elliot shrugged. Feigned disinterest; Toby knew that shrug.

Toby rested his fingers on the smooth cold glass, beads of condensation slipping over his skin. He could smell the hops. He pushed it a couple of inches further away. "I couldn't do your job. Facing that shit every day?"

"You lived amongst that shit for eight years."

Toby huffed a laugh. He didn't think about it like that. "I just kept out of their way, as much as I could. I wasn't responsible for stopping people from doing what they do." Sometimes he was one of them.

Elliot took a pull from his beer. "I'd never make it pushing papers in an office to make a corporation money."

Him and Chris both. Toby had invented a thousand fantasies of Chris alive and magically pardoned, magically fitting into the domestic life. Abandoning the scams and the penchant for murder to play house with Toby and Holly and Harry as though the sheer force of their love could instil the impulse control it never did in Oz.

Chris whispered in his ear. Whaddya think, Tobe? Here's your neutered substitute, straining a business shirt and fucking tie, straight out of the genie's lamp. Think he could make you come like I did?

Maybe he could, Toby thought back. Maybe I'll find out.

Chris laughed. He's straight, you asshole. Genies always fuck with your wishes.

Toby leaned forward on his elbows, focusing hard on Elliot. "So what have you been up to lately that wasn't tainted with misery and violence? Have you seen your kids?" He caught himself breathing deep, trying to compare Elliot's scent to Chris, but all he could smell was that beer. He forced himself back.

"I took the twins to Coney Island at the weekend. They're still young enough that my wallet makes it worth being seen with me."

Toby grinned. "Do you go on the rides?"

"Ferris wheel. Doc won't let me on the bumper cars 'til my arm's back in shape."

"Not the Cyclone?"

"A man shouldn't ride roller coasters past his thirtieth birthday." He paused as the barman deposited a basket of fries between them. "Do you?"

"Hell, no. I always hated roller coasters." He would have gone on it with Elliot. Long drops and stomach-churning turns would have felt like old times.

Toby lifted his glass and drank. The taste burst through his mouth before he'd realised what he was doing, warmth stretching down his throat to his stomach as he swallowed, reaching up to spread across his face. Sober so long that the first sip went to his head.

"Toby? Is it all right? I'll drink it if you want something else." Elliot showed his own glass, already half-gone.

"No, it's... It's good." Good? His whole body wanted to crawl inside the glass, soak it in through his pores. It was a damned relief that Elliot drank beer, because if this had been a martini or a tumbler of Jameson, Toby wouldn't have stopped until he was on the floor. Toby could stop. His face was warm. He forced the glass back to the table and very deliberately chose a fry. Seven and a half years clean, gone in one sip.

Slumbering need awoke, and stretched, and roared. Toby shoved his hands in his lap before Elliot could see them shaking.

One mistake. He could do this.

"What about Holly? She like Coney Island?"

Holly. Think of Holly, make good choices. He pushed his fingers into his thighs until it hurt. He couldn't be a drunk fuck up for Holly. "Holly's terrified of the whole place. I took her just after I got out, we got as far as Nathan's, and she dragged me back to the D. She's not a fan of creaky wooden buildings."

Elliot's face softened, and Toby kicked himself for getting distracted. He didn't want to be one of Elliot's victims. He gave up too much of that already. Toby had never fully understood what Chris saw when he looked at him, but it wasn't a victim. Chris had given him a hard kick any time he acted like one. Toby would bet Elliot didn't kick his victims. Probably didn't tug them into dark corners, out of the guard's view, to fuck them, either.

"Holly likes museums. And the zoo. Any zoo, she's crazy about animals."

Elliot sipped, licked the foam off his lip, and Toby watched like it was pay-per-view. "Is she begging for a pet?" Amused blue eyes under that familiar sharp brow, high forehead. Elliot would taste like Chris if Toby kissed him, plus the tang of alcohol.

Holly and pets. "This week it's chickens. Last week it was a cat."

"Lucky you don't indulge her every whim, then."

Another mouthful of beer slid over Toby's tongue, cool and deliciously bitter. "I'm still learning how to look after us." The lingering aftertaste of hops said he was shit at that, but his damp fingertips stayed on the smooth, hard glass, making paths through the condensation.

Seven and a half years, he'd been sober. Seven and a half years, and now the taste was on his tongue, the memory of bright warm confidence nagging at him, and he took another careful sip. This was the confidence that got him though countless performance reviews, dinner with his grandmother, plenty of fights with Genevieve. "How come you invited me out to lunch after the trial?"

"Beat facing the mountain of paperwork on my desk."

Toby didn't want a pat answer. "Come on. You don't seem like a cop who regularly goes for burgers with random witnesses." Especially slutty gay ones. Or did he?

Elliot took a drink, avoiding Toby's eyes. Maybe he was going to tell the truth. "There've been a few cases lately... This one..." He lifted his newly-healed arm. "This happened at the trial after a school shooting. A playground of six year-olds."

Toby's hands closed tight around his glass.

"I've been in SVU for fourteen years. We get scumbags off the streets for a while but we don't cure anyone. Lives don't get fixed with a check from the insurance companies."

"I know."

He leaned in, elbows on the table. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I needed to see someone who'd rebuilt his life. I need someone to convince me the girl forced into sex slavery while her mother was murdered is going to be able to step up and raise her little brother and sister. I need some hope that the little boy who survived the execution of his family by Columbian drug traffickers is going to find some peace in witness protection. We had a case a couple of years back, some famous anti-gay psychiatry professor who murdered his gay son's lover, beat his son, then sat in court and preached about how homosexuality was a perversion. After being raised like that, you think that kid's ever going to have a happy, healthy relationship?" Elliot sat back, seeming surprised by his own rant. "You've got a stable job, you and Holly are close. I'm sure your life isn't perfect, but tell me you're okay. Tell me she's okay."

Toby took a long pull from his beer, licked the last drop from his lips. "We're okay." Elliot's glass was empty. Toby's was half-gone, and warm. "It's my round. I'm going to get a whiskey, you want something stronger?" The words were rolling out as though the last nine years hadn't happened at all and this was just another night drinking with colleagues before driving drunkenly home.

"Sure."

Johnnie Walker Double Black Label was the best this dive had. Good enough. If Toby was going to allow himself this one mistake, he wasn't going to waste it on Sam Adams.

Elliot sniffed and tasted. "Nice."

Toby just breathed in for a moment. Divine. Hard to believe fucking everything up was this easy. He was flushing everything away to grasp an evening of twisted memories of his dead lover. Something near enough to Chris was holding Johnnie Walker to his lips, in no hurry to leave, and it was absolutely worth the price. Toby drank, eyes near-closing at the pleasure. Maybe Detective Stabler was a three beer queer, and Toby could ride his cock tonight. If Toby could have Mr Close Enough up his ass this fall from grace would be worth every drop.

Elliot was here looking for redemption. Toby had lost his hopes for redemption half a glass ago. Now he just wanted a fix. He wanted to suck Elliot's cock. Find out if all the rest of the details were perfect.

They talked and they drank. The alcohol loosened Elliot's tongue and Toby's inner alcoholic. Toby persuaded the bartender to let them have the bottle, and the world got soft at the edges; the words got soft in Toby's mouth. He was out of practise: nine years ago, a few glasses of whiskey would barely have touched the sides. This lazy, warm buzz was as good as he remembered.

"Have you tried dating?"

Elliot almost choked on his drink. "Dating?"

"You said it's been a year."

"No. No, I'm not, I don't... I barely got my ring off, you know?" He touched the pale band on the skin of his finger. "Have you?" Some people might have called that a blush. "I mean...something serious."

Something where Toby knew his partner's name, not just his prison record. "No." Toby savoured a long pull from his glass, savoured the edge of wood smoke and citrus. "You can ask me, you know."

"Ask what?"

"You're dying to know. You have been ever since you first saw Holly."

"I don't know what you mean." The flash of guilt in his eyes said differently.

"Go on. How does a straight, married father find himself fucking men?"

"So you think you were straight?" The question burst out like Toby just popped a cork.

"Yes."

Elliot shook his head. "You couldn't have been."

"I was."

"So what changed?" Elliot asked, in a tone that said he didn't believe it at all.

Toby didn't mind. Alcohol was blurring away the tiny physical differences, every sip bringing Chris a little closer, making Toby a little surer that he could get something tonight, maybe just give Elliot a hand job in the toilets. Even that would be an embarrassment of riches. How many whiskeys to get Elliot's strong hand around Toby's aching cock? "In prison... there's nothing gentle. The days are hard, the men are hard, the beds are hard. In my first year, I never saw my kids. Saw my wife once, and I couldn't..." He hadn't been able to get it up for Genevieve in that Lysol-soaked conjugal room, ass still aching from Vern's good luck fuck. "You try living that way for a year, and tell me you wouldn't shank your own mother for someone to touch you like you're a human being."

Toby had thought he didn't want anyone to touch him ever again, until Chris absently - seemingly absently - helped strip his shirt after a nightmare, and goose bumps rose in the wake of his gentle hands. Toby wished he could manufacture half as good an excuse for laying his own hands on Elliot. "Fucking in prison doesn't exactly make me unique."

"Yeah, but you're not in prison now. If you can just 'turn gay', doesn't that make all the crusaders like that psychiatry professor right? If prison turned you gay, maybe letting boys play with dolls and wear their mothers' shoes makes them gay."

"God, I don't know Elliot. Ask your precinct shrink. Maybe trauma turned me gay. Or maybe prison just stripped away every assumption I'd made about who I was, left me a blank slate." Maybe he wasn't gay at all. It wasn't love he was looking for in Franco's.

"So you just..." Elliot lifted his hand and leaned back, ducking his chin

"So I just what?" Toby wanted him to say it, wanted to hear the buttoned-up Chris-twin talk about sex with men.

"Nah, never mind."

"How can I fuck men?"

Elliot made a face.

Toby liked talking about sex with Elliot, while his cock was pressing against his zip. He liked using the word 'fuck', seeing how it made the seasoned detective squirm in his seat. The very opposite of Chris, but fun all the same.

"So you just stopped wanting women? Soft skin and the smell of them, the taste of them... God, I miss..." Elliot flushed as he trailed off. "I must be fucking drunk."

"You miss going down on your wife?" Toby was salivating. The image of Elliot eating out his wife, burying his face in her cunt as her thighs clamped around his ears. Maybe if you peeled off that starched shirt there was a sexual animal beneath, a little Chris Keller after all. Toby leaned in. "That's not something a man should be ashamed to say." Tell me more.

Elliot chuckled and rubbed his face. "Once I sober up I'm never going to look you in the eye again."

Then Toby would make the most of tonight. "I still get a hard-on for women. I want them, I just can't stand to touch them. I know where I've been." He still looked, still wanted, but he couldn't bring himself to put his dirty hands or mouth anywhere near them. Better to stay in the gutter with his own kind, where he couldn't hurt decent people.

Unless Stabler offered. Toby brushed his fingers over the bulge of his cock, wondering if Elliot would notice. Was all this alcohol and sex talk making Elliot as hard as Toby?

"Does Holly know?"

"She's eleven years old. You really think she thinks about where I stick my dick?"

Elliot screwed up his face. "There's nothing in the world that could make me want a man."

Toby lifted the bottle and topped up their glasses. He wanted to test that theory. "Once upon a time, I would've said that, too." He reached across and touched the tattoo peeking out of Elliot's sleeve, let his fingers linger on his hot skin. "You were in the service."

"Marines."

"Did you do active duty?"

"Desert Storm." There was a clench to his jaw, a tiny Chris-like warning to be careful where this line of questioning went. Toby was still tracing the anchor of his tattoo, but strangely Elliot held still.

"Do you think you came out the same person you were when you joined up?"

Elliot's fingers twitched. He finally took his arm away and took a long pull from his whiskey. "I didn't switch teams."

One night, Toby thought. One hour, and I'd change your team. "I didn't come out of Oz qualified to join the police force. I'm just saying, things change us. And you never know how until you come out the other side and wonder how the fuck you got here."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby grunted and cracked his eyes, screwed them shut against the light. He was alone. Apparently it took more than a few shots of whiskey to turn Elliot into Chris.

Years of sobriety down the drain so he could play pretend, and all he as left with was- He wasn't alone.

The crack of the door had woken him. Toby jerked up. There was Holly standing over his bed, still in her jacket and scarf, looking like he'd betrayed her all over again.

"Hol..." he croaked.

"Holly!" His mother's voice, and then there she was in the doorway, mirroring Holly's expression. "Holly, can I speak to your father a moment?"

With a quivering lip Holly ran out, and Toby curled into a ball. His head hurt and his heart hurt. He was always going to be a fuck-up.

The bed dipped. "What happened, Toby?"

"Nothing happened, Mother." He pushed his face against the pillow.

"The kitchen reeks of gin, and so do you. Is this what happens when Holly is with me?"

"No!"

She was quiet for a long time. "Talk to me, Toby. Please."

He wished he could tell her something terrible happened, some pitiful excuse so she'd pull him into her arms and tell him she understood. He wished his head was clear enough to invent one. 'I wanted to stare at Chris Keller's ghost,' didn't seem like it would earn her sympathy.

"Toby."

He pulled himself tighter, and rubbed his eyes.

"I can't help you if you won't talk to me, but by god I'll protect Holly. I'm taking her home again. Call me when you're sober."

Toby listened to the click of her heels retreating. His door closed and Holly's opened, low voices and then Holly cried, "No, I'm not going!" and burst into his room, and suddenly his bed was full of her as she burrowed into his arms.

Toby's eyes burned. He could still taste last night, and knew without doubt she could smell it on him. "I'm sorry Hol. I fucked up."

"I want to stay here with you."

"You should be mad at me, not your grandmother."

"I'm not mad at her. I just don't want to go."

He didn't deserve this, but he couldn't punish Holly. He struggled to sit up, rubbed his gluggy face and squinted against the stabbing light. "What time is it?"

"Eight."

Eight in the morning. Toby would have traded anything to crawl back under the covers. Anything but Holly. "Why don't you offer to make your grandmother some breakfast, and I'll shower, try to make myself human."

"All right." Her voice quivered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Hol. I'm sorry." He squeezed her hard and then let go, and she went.

Mother was waiting in the hallway as Toby headed for the bathroom, looking equal parts sad and angry.

"Can you stay, Mother?"

"I can."

He hesitated in the door. "The kitchen stinks because I poured most of the bottle down the sink. I don't do this every time Holly's with you. This was the first time since I got out."

She didn't believe him. Why should she? That sympathetic look made him cringe. "Why, Toby? Did something happen?"

He lifted his shoulders. "I didn't say no."

 

He braced himself against the tiles and let hot water beat against his back, his shoulders, his neck. Sobering just enough to sharpen the self-hatred.

He'd let Holly down. Again. The only thing he cared about in the whole world was protecting her, and he couldn't get that right. He was a miserable piece of shit.

And there wasn't enough whiskey in the world to make Elliot into Chris, or even to make him comfortable enough to let Toby suck his very straight cock. Toby didn't know how obvious he'd been in those muddy later hours, but maybe the best he could hope for was that Elliot would bother to tell him he never wanted to see him again. That'd be poetry. Maybe he'd break Toby's arms for old times' sake.

Toby wished he'd never laid eyes on him. He'd been doing well enough. Missing Chris through the lonely nights like a toothache but he'd been coping in his own way, keeping it together for Holly. And then Elliot showed up, beautiful and alive and tempting, reawakening the hunger, growing hope where it didn't belong.

Like a taste of alcohol after years of sobriety.

Toby didn't know how long he'd stared at that gin last night. He'd picked it up across the street, fingers caressing the brown paper bag all the way home. He'd poured a glass and finished it standing at the kitchen counter, and then he'd been frozen, the glass weight of the bottle in his hand. The sick-sweet stench. Nights huddled in his pod, gut churning as he waited for Chris to return from solitary. Mornings arguing with Gen. Kathy Rockwell's small body, broken across his windshield.

Acid burned its way up Toby's throat and he heaved, but nothing came out.

He'd forced himself to turn and look at the papers on the fridge: school notices and photos and pieces of Holly's artwork, a pencil drawing of their apartment she'd labelled 'home'. And a thirty dollar bottle of Miller's had gone down the sink.

It would be something to be proud of, if he hadn't been too drunk and stupid to think the smell would linger. Too drunk and stupid to worry about what time Mother would bring Holly home, what state he'd be in today.

They were in the kitchen waiting for him, so Toby picked up the soap and tried to wash last night away. He must have made an idiot of himself. He didn't know why he'd offered to explain to Elliot how he'd been turned around to men in prison. It wasn't like he'd ever figured that out himself.

Looking back, he couldn't even put a moment on it. Was it having Chris there for him when McManus told him Gen was dead? Was it when Chris gave him the spine to call his grandmother, and insist on seeing the kids? Or had Vern planted the seeds when he came up Toby's ass? Sometimes Toby thought he didn't really know how bone-deep his feelings went until the supply cupboard, when he shoved that shank inside Chris and realised he couldn't go all the way, couldn't bleed him out like he did with that dirty screw Metzger, and he hated Chris in that moment all the more for being jammed inside him, necessary like oxygen or food.

Elliot deserved better than to play substitute in that fantasy. Chris deserved better than to be replaced with a weak carbon copy.

 

The oily smell of frying sausage and eggs was brutal on his queasy stomach but he choked down the entire plate to placate the women.

His mother stayed, watching with worried eyes that scraped his hung over nerves. He cleaned the kitchen and got Holly to pick a movie to put off conversation, cuddled up with her on the couch.

By lunch Toby felt almost human. He made sure Holly was within hearing when he called to make an appointment with the alcohol counsellor Sister Pete had recommended to him. Out of Holly's hearing, he told his mother again that it was only once, and didn't blame her at all for not believing him.

"I wish you would let me help."

"You do, Mother."

"Clearly not enough." She looked so sad. "Holly can't go through more than she already has."

"You think I don't know that?" He had no right to snap. He calmed his voice. "I know that."


	5. Sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 4:  
> After a tough case, Elliot invited Toby out for a beer. Toby figured he could resist a drink while he ogled Elliot for an evening, but he failed spectacularly. The fail got bigger when he woke the next morning, hungover, to his disappointed mother and daughter.

Toby hadn't called, so a week after their night of embarrassing drunken sex talk, Elliot did. "I don't blame you if you're avoiding me."

"Elliot! No. No, I'm not avoiding you." He sounded panicked.

"That was a joke. You free tonight?"

"Tonight? I... Yes! That would be great. Holly's at a sleepover. Just.. could we maybe do food, this time?"

Elliot smiled. "That's a damned good idea." Elliot was still cringing at how much he'd drunk that night. Thank god Toby had been in no position to judge. "I'll be in your area around six-thirty. You can pick anywhere except vegetarian or sushi." He was still smiling as he put the phone down and caught Munch's raised eyebrow. "I've got three potential licence plates. What've you got?"

"Frostbite from pounding through the snow in these shoes."

It should've been weird how much Elliot was looking forward to dinner, but he was starting to realise how much he needed a friend who didn't sit at one of these desks, and wasn't allocated to Kathy in the divorce. Somebody to share a drink and talk about all the shit he couldn't talk to Liv about. Though maybe they could cut back on discussing Toby's sex life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The wind blew Elliot through the door into a burst of toasty heat, and with his first breath his mouth started watering at the scent of slow-cooked pork and barbecue sauce. Toby had taken the no-vegetarian request seriously. Perfect February food.

He was still peeling off his gloves and hat as he slid into the booth opposite Toby. "If it tastes half as good as it smells in here..."

Toby gestured towards the bread basket and smiled. "And free cornbread."

Elliot slathered on butter and took a bite. It tasted exactly as good as it smelled.

The waitress stopped by and Elliot ordered a beer. "Is the pulled pork good?"

"Everything's good, honey."

"It's good," said Toby. "That's what I'll have. And a sparkling water will be fine."

They pretended last week's over-sharing didn't happen, and moved on with normal things. It sounded like Toby spent a lot of time reading, seemed to be on a Russian history kick.

"Cheerful."

"It makes me feel better about my life."

"At least you didn't spend twenty years in a Siberian gulag?"

He gave a crooked smile. "Something like that."

They ended up talking about the battle of Stalingrad and old war movies and Steve McQueen versus Paul Newman, just shooting the breeze while eating the best pulled pork Elliot had tasted since he was a kid. He wiped his mouth and gave his stomach a rub. "If I lived near this place, all the weights in the world couldn't save me."

The corner of Toby's mouth lifted. "You don't look like you have any trouble keeping fit."

Elliot blinked, and Toby's eyes dropped. Elliot put his hands back on the table, and told himself not to be an idiot. He was being teased. And if Toby wanted to look, what did it matter? Elliot wasn't insecure. "I would if people kept putting baskets of cornbread in front of me."

Toby broke off a small piece from the basket. "I should try my hand at making it." His phone rang, some pop song that Elliot would bet Holly put on it, and he'd fished it out before the first bar was done but he held it in his hand. "Sorry, I have to..."

Elliot waved him off. He was the last person in the world who could complain about phone calls interrupting dinner.

Toby answered. "Hi, sweetheart." His face fell, and he rubbed his face as they talked.

It sounded like Holly was ready to come home from that sleepover. Immediately. Toby buried his head in his hand and gently asked what the other kids were up to, talked her down, persuaded her to give it another try with a promise that if she called again he'd come straight over.

He hung up and hesitated, and Elliot waved off his apologetic look. "Do what you gotta do."

He dialled. "Hey Mel, it's Toby. Yeah, she called. I don't think it's her kind of movie. Maybe if you invite her down to help in the kitchen or something it will give her an out, distract her for-" He nodded. "Thanks, Mel." He put the phone down. "Military invasions have been carried out with less coordination."

"She doesn't like sleepovers? All of mine love any excuse to get out of our house."

Toby looked down and swallowed, then lifted his head. "It's the first time she's slept away from family since the kidnap. Her therapist said it would be good for her. Didn't seem to care if it was good for me." He gave a wry smile. "Did I tell you how glad I was when you called tonight?"

Elliot was impressed that Toby was sitting here. If Dickie or Lizzie had been through what Holly had been through, Elliot would have been in his car outside that house, would have broken down the door the second they called. "How's she doing?"

"Remarkably well, considering all she's been through. This age, though... I can explain things to the adults in her life, but I have to set her loose in a sea of insensitive pre-teens who want to watch scary movies."

"Do her friends know what happened to her?"

"Most of it. These are the same kids she was at school with when she was taken, and my prison stint is public knowledge, so she doesn't have a lot of secrets. In September, though... She's starting middle school, and it's going to be a sea of strangers."

Elliot could imagine. There probably weren't too many kids in Holly's circle whose parents had done time. Let alone the rest of it. "Maureen was with me when we came across a crime scene, once." It was one of Elliot's biggest regrets in all his years on the job. "Body set alight. She had nightmares for a month." She still found an excuse to leave the room if there was a burning building on the TV.

"She's your oldest."

"Yeah. She's started talking about doing her science post-grad in Boston." Post-grad. When the hell did that happen?

"Harvard? I went to Harvard. It's a good school."

In Elliot's dreams. "BU. Which is still three and a half hours away."

"Closer than Stanford."

"Don't even joke about it." Elliot remembered that was about as far away Toby's nine year-old lived. No way in hell.

"You think any of yours will follow you into the force?"

"Nooooo." Thank god. "I think Kathy would kill me."

Toby looked startled. "Kathy?"

"My wife. Ex-wife." He was going to have to get used to calling her that.

"Huh."

They talked about their kids a while, until the food was gone and Elliot was fit to burst, but he didn't want to go home yet. Toby didn't seem motivated to head home, either. "You want to grab a beer?"

"I, uh..." Toby chewed his lip, looking downright scared for a moment, but he swallowed it down. "I'm not... I need to stay away from bars."

Because he hooked up in bathrooms? Elliot was reasonably sure he hadn't done that when they went for drinks last week. He hadn't been gone that long.

"I'm an alcoholic."

"We were at a bar last... Wait... You're an alcoholic?" Toby had been drunk when he killed that girl. Elliot felt like a heel. "Why didn't you tell me?" Toby looked awkward, and Elliot kicked himself. Why would he want to announce it to someone he barely knew? Elliot looked at his second beer of the night, remembered Toby had been drinking water. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. You didn't make me an alcoholic."

"You're trying to get sober?" Not doing a great job of it, judging by last weekend. Elliot felt himself pulling back.

He sighed. "I was sober for seven and a half years."

"What happened?"

Toby touched his glass of water, turned it around, pushed it away. "You wanted to go for a beer. I wanted to see you. Didn't want you to think I was a more of a loser than you already knew."

"You broke seven years of sobriety just because I asked you out to a bar?"

"No. I drank because I'm an alcoholic."

It may have been true, but it didn't make Elliot feel any better. He should have known. Maybe Toby had even said it, back in one of the interviews. "Shit, Toby. I don't make a habit of dragging alcoholics to bars. Next time, how about you suggest going out for ice cream instead?"

Toby smiled. "Ice cream? Yeah, that's real manly."

"Screw you, I love ice cream."

That got a genuine laugh, the first Elliot had seen. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not being a dick about it."

"You're not the only alcoholic I know." The only one Elliot had ever enabled, maybe. "You can't be drinking, Toby. You're all Holly's got."

"I know. Mother keeps reminding me. She... found out." Elliot wondered what stood in that pause. He was sure it hadn't gone down well. "She's been calling me every second day to check on me."

"Good for her."

"I know. It was just that night, and I've put myself back in counselling."

"Your daughter's more important than seeing me."

"She is. But having a friend is... I've really enjoyed talking to you."

"Yeah, me too." Elliot cringed at how gay that sounded. He wasn't going to tell him how Munch and Cragen had stared when he bounced out of the station at five-thirty today.

"So, food from now on."

"Or ice cream."

"Or ice cream," Toby agreed.

"Sounds good to me." It sounded like this was going to happen more often. He wasn't happy to find out Toby was an off-the-wagon alcoholic, but he deserved a chance. Elliot could stick around, as long as Toby could stay sober.

"I can't fit ice cream in after all this, but if you're dreading going home like I am, there's a nice view from the park."

It sounded a hell of a lot better than home. "Sure."

The wind had died down, and it was close enough to walk. The sidewalk was clear, but grey snow was piled up in gutters and along the fronts of the brownstones. When they reached the shoreline Elliot tugged his beanie over his head, glad he had his heavy coat. They strolled to the end of the pier to stare across the Hudson at the lights of the Jersey skyline. A little romantic for Elliot's comfort - the couple hugging beside them seemed to think so - but Toby didn't notice so Elliot told himself not to be so uptight. "Holly never called back. Guess she's okay."

"I hope so."

"My lot always loved having friends over. Maureen and Lizzie and Dickie were happy having one stay, but in Kathleen's tween years I'd stumble home from work to find five girls giggling in the kitchen, eating cold pizza or making popcorn. It was kinda nice." When it was late, he'd peek in to see them crammed on the floor of the basement in their sleeping bags: sometimes all passed out, sometimes a last couple of hold-outs, quietly talking about whatever it was girls talked about after midnight, going all silent and wide-eyed at his intrusion. "Guess I'm not going to get to do that with Lizzie." There weren't going to be any sleepovers in his cramped apartment. "I lost so much of their lives to the job, now I don't see them at home. Feels like they just keep getting further away."

"So fix it." He sounded like Kathy.

"It's not that simple."

Toby laughed. "Do you really want to play one-upmanship on parental absence with me?" That shut Elliot up. Toby continued, and Elliot didn't know how he sounded so calm. "Do you want to punish yourself, or do you want to fix it? Because you can't do both at the same time. I wreaked a trail of destruction through my whole family, but Holly's celebrating her friend's birthday, bundled up in a sleeping bag and eating cake." He nodded towards the skyline, the Staten Island Ferry pushing by. "With you or without you, it just keeps rolling along."

"Not everything is your fault."

"It was." Toby shrugged off his look. "It's not a guilt complex. All of the worst things that have happened to the people I care about, every one can be traced back to the day I got behind the wheel drunk off my ass."

Elliot turned to lean back against the railing, stared at the white mist of his breath."I guess I don't know much about your story." Olivia had been the one who skimmed Toby's file during the Markstrom case, and Elliot hadn't been all that interested at the time. He hadn't anticipated late night heart-to-hearts on the pier.

"Don't be tempted to read my file, all right?"

"Of course not." Maybe Toby was some kind of mind reader. Elliot chased back for where the thread of the conversation had gone wrong. "Does Holly ever have friends over?"

"She doesn't have many friends. None with parents who want their daughters to sleep over with a single father ex-con." It came out too quiet, like it hurt. "She has her friends over at my mother's."

Elliot swallowed. Lizzie wouldn't dare to ask to stay with some guy who'd been in prison. Even now, knowing Toby a little - knowing some of the sordid details - he'd hesitate to let Lizzie sleep over with Holly.

Toby leaned on his elbows on the railing. "She had a brother."

Now Elliot looked at Toby: in the shadows of the lamplight he could see his jaw was clenched as he stared across the water. "Harry?"

"Gary. They were kidnapped together."

Gary never made it home. "Hell." There was that twisting knife Elliot felt every time he faced the parents of a dead child. But this time he knew Toby, had seen how close he was to his daughter, and the knife just kept on going. He was grateful for the dark. "Did they find him?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for your loss." He hated those words, but in twenty years, he'd never found anything better. "Did they get the guy?" If they didn't, Elliot was heading back to the house tonight to get his hands on the file.

"He got off on a technicality."

Fucking lawyers.

Toby gave a shrug. "He's dead. He must have got tangled up with the mob - they hit him a few months later."

"How old was Gary?"

"Eight. Two years older than Holly. He'd be thirteen, now."

Dickie's age. "Do you want to talk about him?"

Toby straightened, surprised by the question. He curled his gloved hands around the rail. "No. It just feels like a shameful secret when I don't mention him."

They fell quiet. They'd become friends because Elliot was curious about how Toby held it together after everything that had happened to him. Elliot hadn't known the half of it. It was a miracle Toby only struggled with alcohol.

Toby pulled his phone out of his pocket, checked a message. "Mel says they've all fallen asleep."

The wind picked up and Elliot shuddered, lifted his collar. "Come on." He started back towards shore, Toby falling in beside him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was late when Elliot drove Toby home. He stayed in his car, but he didn't drive away until Toby had let himself into the building and climbed the stairs out of sight. Elliot had plenty of fears for his own family, but Toby beat them all. One dead, one traumatised, one a stranger. No mother.

Elliot checked his watch. Too late for the twins, and Kathleen wouldn't want to hear from him. Maureen would be up.

"Dad, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. It's not too late to call, is it?"

"No, but you don't call this late. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Did something happen at work?"

Elliot tipped his head back on the head rest. "Am I that bad at keeping up with you?"

He heard her sigh. "No. It's just almost eleven. My friends call me this late. You and mom never do unless somebody's in hospital. Usually you."

"I'm fine. Perfect health, I promise. I was just talking about you with a friend, and I realised I hadn't seen you in a couple of weeks."

"You have a friend?"

"Yes, I went out and found myself a friend since we last spoke. That's how long it's been. So could we maybe organise a lunch, or a coffee or something?"

"Sure, Dad." He could hear her grinning. It helped.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby wondered if Elliot waited for him to go inside just to be sure he wasn't doubling back to the package store. He didn't need to worry: Toby was feeling stronger today. Good food and decent conversation beat the hell out of staring at a cold beer, even when that perfect resemblance was beginning to break down.

Toby had forgotten the smell of Chris. Elliot had brought it back by being wrong. Elliot looked right and sometimes he sounded right but he smelled like pressed clothes and some unfamiliar aftershave. Chris had smelled like prison soap and fresh sweat, like someone had bottled Clint Eastwood and James Dean and an extra quart of testosterone.

Toby hung up his coat and unwound his scarf. Out on the pier, Elliot bundled against the cold so Toby couldn't see him or smell him, Toby hadn't been thinking so much of Chris at all.

The empty apartment felt like sensory deprivation. Like those first weeks of freedom in his mother's house, where solid walls and heavy furnishings swallowed all the sounds of life. She'd had doors that closed, lights that switched off to leave you in total darkness. Who would have guessed that the creak of your murderer-roommate shifting in the bed below you could be a comfort?

Toby wandered around the apartment picking up Holly's things and putting them down again. Fix it, he'd told Elliot. Chris would have told Toby to fix things with Harry. They're your blood, Toby.

Toby checked the time. Not late in San Diego. He sat on the couch and pulled up his call list, took a slow deep breath before hitting call. Now he felt the craving for a martini. Harry was the only person he could call who wouldn't wonder if he'd been drinking.

"Hello?"

"Hi Marta. It's Toby. How are you?"

"I'm well, Toby, how are you?"

"Fine. How is the merger going?" Toby wanted to give Harry a cell phone so he could call him any time, without making polite conversation with Marta or Jonah first, but Marta and Jonah thought Harry was too young for his own cell phone.

"Coming along. How's Holly?"

"At a sleepover. It's pretty quiet here, so I was hoping..."

"You want to talk to Harrison? He's up here somewhere. Harrison!"

Toby could hear her climbing the stairs. "How is he?"

"Great. He had a solo in the school choir on Monday night. You should have heard him, Toby."

Toby's next breath went down sideways. He'd never heard Harry sing. He'd never been to any of his concerts, or his windsailing competitions, or a parent-teacher conference.

"Harrison, it's your father."

The phone clunked as it was passed over, and then Harry's clear voice came down the line. "Hi Dad."

"Hey, Harry. What are you up to?"

"Making a poster."

"For school?"

"Yeah."

"What's it about?"

"We had to choose a mammal. I picked echidnas."

"They're Australian, right?"

"Yeah. They lay eggs." He sounded like he was only half paying attention, concentrating on his poster as they talked.

"Marta said you were great in the choir on Monday."

"I was okay."

"I wish I could have heard you."

"It was nothing special."

"Everything you do is special, Harry. Maybe next time you could ask your Nan to record it for me."

"Okay."

Toby pulled his legs under him. "So what else have you been doing? Have you been hanging out with Aaron and Phil?"

Toby dragged the conversation on a little longer, until he'd run out of things to ask or tell. Harry didn't seem bothered when he finally said goodbye.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot's stomach growled when he took his pulled pork sandwich out of the microwave and took it back to his desk.

Finn sniffed as he walked past. "Damn that smells good. You got a spare?"

"Dinner leftovers. Found this place in Red Hook; their cornbread'll change your whole outlook on the world."

"Brooklyn? Did you have a hot date?"

Elliot lifted his head, saw half the squad room looking at him. "Uh. No."

Especially Olivia. "You have been in a good mood today."

"Is that so unusual?" Nobody reacted except Olivia, who was brave enough to cock an eyebrow. 

Munch leaned against the edge of Olivia's desk. "You did bounce out of here with an uncharacteristic promptness yesterday."

Elliot dumped his sandwich on its wrapper. "You've all been nagging me to have a social life, so I caught up with a friend."

Finn raised his hands. "We ain't been nagging you; just Olivia. I personally don't give a damn if you're getting laid or not."

"I'm not getting laid!"

Way too loud: now even the captain was standing in his office door, listening.

Elliot rubbed a hand through his hair. "If it's all right with all of you, I'm seeing Maureen after work tonight, so can we get this to bed so I can actually leave on time?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tonight Toby had found a spot in Soho that did chilli-chocolate ice cream to make good on their ice cream plan. Dinners - or late night snacks - had become an irregular weekly thing as the winter dragged on through February, whenever they could fit them between their kids and Elliot's job. Elliot dragged Toby to a place that did great souvlaki the day his divorce was finalised, and Toby invited Elliot out to Little Italy one evening when he found himself salivating in the window of the package store. When Toby craved a drink, he called his counsellor or he called Elliot. He was getting to know Elliot pretty well.

For some reason, Elliot seemed to like talking to Toby. From the stilted, stumbling attempts to articulate his feelings and the detached descriptions of his relationships, Toby suspected he didn't do it a lot. He felt cut off from his kids by divorce and their growing up, feared that his attempts to bring them back just pushed them away. Toby understood.

Toby swallowed, enjoying the warm-cold of the dessert. It felt strangely indulgent to be sitting in here eating ice cream, watching through the window as people hurried along the snowy sidewalk, huddled in their coats. "How do the others in your squad handle it? Work, their families?"

"We're all divorced. Except Liv, who never married. Saved herself some paperwork." 

"Does she have family?"

Elliot sucked his spoon clean. "Nah. No father, mother died a few years back. Just the job."

"That must be hard."

"We don't talk about it much. But yeah." He stared out the window, playing with his spoon.

"Does it break some kind of sacred cop-partner trust to tell her you worry?"

Elliot gave him a sharp look. "Yeah. It does. You don't know how it is. I spend more time with Liv than I ever did with Kathy. We've seen each other through some bad days. There's not a lot of privacy left, so you hold on to what you can."

Toby wondered what it was like, balancing a relationship like that with a marriage. Gen had always paid attention to the female lawyers at his firm, seemed happier when he had a male assistant. It was never overt; there were never jealous accusations, but he noticed her noticing, and he'd picked his work stories carefully to ease her worries.

Elliot butted heads with a few of his colleagues, but he respected them. He craved his boss's approval like a father, and Toby suspected he got it more than he realised.

Every insight dragged him a little further from the man Toby was searching for, and every meal was a disappointment and a relief. Elliot's face was stolen from a ghost, but this wasn't Chris. Elliot didn't challenge him or infuriate him or terrify him like Chris had, didn't make his blood sing or his cock throb. Not that Toby could pretend he wouldn't like to fuck him, given half a chance. Toby could hear Chris sneer in the back of his mind, but Toby's cock wouldn't much care about the trivial differences. It was probably lucky Elliot was a super-hetero cop. It saved Toby from screwing this up.

Meanwhile, Elliot was slowly restoring Toby's faith in the world. Elliot cared about his family, his victims, noble ideas of justice, and he worked hard for all of it. Instead of Chris, Toby had found himself a new Said - and wouldn't Said appreciate that, his replacement stuffed in the body of an angry white cop? Elliot gave a damn, and that was a balm to Toby's soul after the selfish survival mentality of prison. He gave a damn about Toby. Somehow Toby had found himself a friend. And if he sometimes looked at Toby just the right way, or tensed his body and fisted his hands when he felt pushed into a corner, then that was more than okay with Toby.


	6. Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 5:  
> Toby was grateful when Elliot invited him out to dinner. Not only was it a chance to stare at Elliot, but it was also a welcome distraction while Holly was at a sleepover. Toby owned up to being an alcoholic, which didn't ruin everything, and told Elliot about his dead son, Gary. Afterwards, Elliot called Maureen, and Toby called Harry. Elliot didn't appreciate the squad's curiosity about his personal life, as time with Toby became a regular habit.

Ringing hammered its way into Toby's sleep, and he floundered around for the phone on the stand. It took three tries to answer it. "Hello?"

"How did you deal with it, Toby?"

Toby sat upright. It was Chris. He couldn't speak. How could Chris be calling in the middle of the night?

"Must've had so much rage burning you up; you can't tell me you didn't want to kill everyone."

Chris was dead. A stone swelled in Toby's chest. It couldn't be Chris, calling up old sins in the dead of night. He was dead. He left Toby behind.

"Toby?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Elliot."

It took a few seconds for that name to even make sense. It was Elliot Stabler. It was almost as absurd.

"Toby, how did you deal with the rage?"

Desperation, agony in that voice, and Toby saw him curled on the floor of their cell, smoking and rocking, all his defences razed by the terror of hellfire.

"What did you do, Toby?"

What did he do with his rage? "I swore revenge on the man who fucked me."

A moment later, Elliot asked, "And?"

Toby dug his fingers into the pillow. "It got my son killed."

The harsh exhalation was clear down the tinny phone line.

Toby screwed his eyes shut and opened them again, tried to focus. "Listen, Elliot, do you want to meet somewhere?"

"No, I just-"

"Yes, you do. That's why you called me." He could feel Elliot shaking his head at the other end of the line, forming excuses as Toby swung his feet out from under the warm covers. "I'm getting dressed. Tell me where we can meet."

"You can't leave Holly-"

"Holly's at my mother's tonight. Are you at home or at work?"

"I'm at work. Outside work. Sitting in my car."

Jeans and a shirt out of the drawer. "I'll meet you at the cafe on 14th where we went last week. Get a taxi."

"I'm in the car."

"Would you let Maureen drive in the state you're in?" Toby waited, and took the silence as a no. "Then don't let her father drive in this state." It was the best badgering method Sister Pete had used on Toby, and he stole it shamelessly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby hurried out of the taxi and across the sidewalk, barely noticing the cold. There'd been construction on the bridge and it had taken him almost an hour to get here. He pushed through the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Elliot slumped in a booth, looking a little drunk and a little like a train wreck, but at least he was here. His hands were clenched in fists on the table, his knuckles scraped and swollen. No tie, shirt unbuttoned, looking way too casual to be Elliot Stabler. Not casual enough to be Chris.

Toby slid in opposite. "What happened?"

Elliot shook his head at the table, jaw flexing. There was a fresh bruise under his left eye.

"What happened?"

"Shouldn't have called you." He played with his water glass, probably wishing it was something else. His shoulders were bunched, mouth pinched, everything locked but his fingers on the glass.

"Clearly bottling it all up isn't helping, so how about you try something else? Try talking."

"You don't know. You don't know the things I..." He suddenly dumped the glass and rubbed the heels of his hands in his eyes.

Toby almost laughed. "You think you're going to turn my hair white? I shared laundry detergent with a guy who ate his mother."

The waitress stared, mouth open on her aborted greeting.

Like nothing was off, Toby said, "I'll have a strawberry milkshake. Elliot?"

"A milkshake?" echoed Elliot, looking up at Toby for the first time since he arrived.

"You strike me as a vanilla guy."

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then asked the waitress, "You got caramel?"

When she was gone, Toby put his elbows on the table. "Did you kill someone?"

"No-"

"Then you're already up on me." Six or maybe a dozen-up, depending on how far Toby carried the responsibility for Chris and Vern's actions, but they weren't here to quibble about numbers. He took hold of Elliot's wrists, felt the bunch of muscles that had been locked for god knew how long. "You called me, Elliot. So fucking talk."

"I beat a guy today." He straightened his fingers, and clenched them again, and fresh blood welled. Toby felt the shift of tendons under his hands. "Somebody dragged me off, I don't even know who. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop." Elliot's eyes were trained on the table the whole time, voice cool.

"Why'd you beat him?"

"You don't want to hear the things that scumbag did to his daughter."

"No, I definitely don't. But you're not still shaking hours later because you're sad you hurt his feelings."

"I wanted to kill him."

"Why was this guy different?"

"I told you-"

"There must have been something. If you beat the hell out of suspects every day, you wouldn't have a badge."

Elliot worked his tongue around his mouth, prodding his bruised face from the inside.

Toby wondered if it would have pushed Elliot over the edge to know Toby was hard right now. Toby's grip on his arms wasn't for Elliot's benefit anymore; this was the closest he'd felt to Chris since that first sighting. "You don't have to worry about me jamming you up. A convicted felon's hearsay."

Elliot's face twisted; apparently that hadn't been what was keeping him silent. "What happened with your son?"

"Oh, so you woke me at one am and you won't talk about your issues, but you'll tear my life open as a distraction?"

Elliot showed a flash of guilt, but he didn't apologise.

Toby didn't speak either. He'd had this same battle with Chris enough times; he could wait.

"Kathy and I had a fight last night."

"About?"

Elliot brought his hands up to rub his face, and Toby missed the contact. "Everything. My hours, money, the kids. My temper. Everything we used to fight about. I thought divorce was supposed to put an end to that." He grimaced. "She says I'm not involved in their lives, but she's the one who booted me out of their house."

Toby waited.

"I'm trying. But you spend all day staring through kiddie porn, cosying up to rapists, and there aren't enough showers to make you clean enough to hug your kids."

"I understand."

Elliot's eyes blazed like he was about to dare Toby to try, and then he nodded. "Maybe you do."

The waitress brought their shakes, and scurried away.

Elliot sucked in a breath. "Kathy and I were arguing, and I caught Lizzie watching at the bottom of the stairs, and I took a step towards her, was just going to tell her to go upstairs, and she flinched." His eyes met Toby's. "My daughter flinched." He looked like he wanted to throw up.

"Angry men are scary. Even fathers." Toby remembered how it used to distress him to see his own father on a tear about something, and he'd never known a gentler man. Thank god Holly had never seen his own rage unleashed.

Elliot glared at him. "I'd never raise a hand to my kids."

"I know."

"I would die for them."

"It's tempting, isn't it?"

Elliot froze. "What?"

Toby leaned close. He wanted to hold Elliot's wrists again, see if he could still feel Chris coiled inside. "In the dark moments it's an appealing thought. It's the greatest act of love a father can commit, and then you're done. Game over. You've proved your love, father of the year, and you don't even have to do any of the hard stuff, like teach them right from wrong or look them in the eye and deal with all the pain you've caused them along the way."

Elliot stayed perfectly still. Yeah, he knew what Toby was talking about. "We talking about me or you, now?"

"I tried."

"Tried what?"

"I tried to die for them."

His eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Someone saved me. Every day I whisper a little prayer of thanks that I get to teach Holly right from wrong, and look her in the eye and face what I've done to her. And I can promise you Elliot, I've caused her more pain than all of your kids will see together in all their lives."

Elliot squeezed his hand, and Toby's stomach lurched.

Compassion, understanding, just a dash of tough love. That was how Toby seduced Andrew Schillinger into turning to him for comfort, just like Chris taught him. And here he was, playing the same game with Elliot Stabler. Seeing that same naive trust in Elliot's eyes. Toby shouldn't have been able to beg his trust the way he'd once begged Andrew's. Toby pulled his hand away. "Is there going to be fallout from that?" He nodded towards Elliot's hands.

Poor fucking Andrew. It had been so easy, Toby was embarrassed for him. Embarrassed for himself all over again at how easily he'd fallen for Chris's manipulations. 

"I got ripped by the Captain. Defence is threatening excessive force, but he threw the first punch. It won't stick."

Not with the way cops backed each other. The con and the lawyer in Toby were disgusted. The friend and the father in him were relieved. Two against two. "You might not be so lucky, next time."

"I know."

Toby didn't mean to manipulate Elliot, but he'd somehow earned Elliot's trust and he didn't know if what he was doing was any different to how he played Andrew. But what else could he do? Leave Elliot to self-destruct? "Your temper's not going to go away on its own."

"I just need to get it under control."

"You don't get rage under control, Elliot. It controls you. That's what rage is." He leaned in, for the dig. "What if Lizzie saw you like were today?"

"What?"

"You think you'd never lose it in front of her? You don't know, Elliot."

Elliot's strong hand closed around Toby's wrist. "How'd you do it?"

Toby swallowed, twice. That perfect, familiar grip. "I think of Holly and I remind myself she's the one who suffered for my weakness, every time." She paid the price for every bout of temper, and she'd pay for it if Toby used Elliot to reinvent Chris.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Are you still writing that report, Elliot? I told you I want it on my desk by-"

"By the end of day. It'll be there, Captain."

"I don't mean by-"

"By five-thirty. It's almost done." Friendly tone, all due respect, and Elliot kept his head down until Cragen was gone. He was done with today. He was ready to be done with this whole week, with date rape drugs on college campuses, with the way Cragen had been riding his ass since Elliot laid into Gleason last week.

He'd been practising reining his temper, and today he had about fifteen minutes of this place left in him.

Elliot checked his watch again, and then wondered for the thousandth time why he checked his watch while he was staring at a computer screen with a clock in the corner. Fifteen minutes, he could get this paperwork wrapped up and be out of here, maybe beat Toby to dinner for once.

Olivia put the phone down. "That's a new one."

Elliot checked the time on the screen. "Tell me it's not a new case."

"A date actually cancelled on me for once. Now I understand why they find it so annoying."

"Karma's a bitch."

She leaned forward on her desk. "Do you want to catch a drink?"

Elliot parsed his last paragraph, swapped a couple of words. "Nah, I've got plans."

"The kids?"

"Not tonight."

"Date?" She was paying attention now, curious.

Elliot concentrated on his typing. Come hell or high water, he was getting out of here at five-thirty, leaving all this behind and relaxing with Toby. "Just a friend." He'd talked to Toby on the phone a couple of times but he hadn't seen him in since the night Toby talked him down.

"You're being mysterious."

Elliot looked up. "Am I?" He didn't mean to be. He didn't really feel like explaining, either, but he was boxed in. That's what he got for hanging out with a detective. "No, it's... You remember Tobias Beecher? He was a witness in the Markstrom case last year."

Olivia only took a moment to place him. "The gay ex-con who liked rough sex in bathrooms when his daughter was out of the way?"

Elliot gritted his teeth. That wasn't how he wanted to hear Toby described. "Yeah. We bumped into each other after the trial. We got to being friends."

She gave him that wide-eyed look, and Elliot shifted in his chair. "You struck up a friendship with a witness?" Like that was the strangest part of everything she just reeled off.

"After the case was done. Toby was never a suspect. We didn't even use him at trial."

She put up her hands. "I wasn't accusing you of anything. He just didn't exactly seem like the type you'd be buddies with."

"He's a good guy." He was the sort of guy Elliot could call in the middle of the night, when his temper got the better of him.

Olivia didn't answer, and Elliot sat back, waiting for it. Was she going to tell him they shouldn't be friends because he was an ex-con, or because he was gay?

"Beecher was fixated on you."

"Nah."

"Yes, he was. We talked about it at the time. He didn't take his eyes off you the entire interview."

That tugged at Elliot's memory, but it was so long ago, and they hadn't known each other back then. "He's not fixated now. We're friends. We have entire conversations that don't end with typing reports or threatening someone's curfew. He's a single father. He gets it."

Liv raised her hands with a smile. "Never let it be said I got between you and one of the half-dozen people on this earth who can stand your company."

Elliot went back to his keyboard. "Since you're free tonight, if anyone comes through that door, you're catching it."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot had just reached the door of the pizza place when Toby came around the corner and made a show of clutching his heart to see Elliot had beaten him there. "Did the captain give you an early mark?"

Elliot smiled. "Apparently there are all sorts of advantages to good behaviour. Nobody told me."

Toby put a hand on his back as they went in and Elliot caught his breath, but just as quickly the hand was gone. Had Toby been fixated on him back in November? He'd been ignoring Olivia, Elliot remembered noticing that. 

Toby waved off the menu and suggested a pizza with the lot. It suited Elliot fine. A special privilege of dining out with another man: not having to divide up the pie like conquered territory after a war. No mushrooms for Maureen, no olives for Elizabeth, extra pepperoni for Dickie. Elliot said so, and Toby shrugged. "These days I'll eat anything but chicken nuggets."

Most of the time, Elliot forgot Toby was gay. Or bisexual, or had sex with guys, or whatever label Toby would have put on it. Toby didn't give off the gay vibe, didn't talk about men or play to the stereotypes. When they talked about relationships, he only ever mentioned his dead wife, Genevieve. Elliot wondered if he felt different from when he was married. It was probably too hard to tell, piled in with everything else that had changed in his life.

Elliot hadn't been self-conscious about Toby before. Now Olivia had him obsessing over whether he was somehow leading Toby on. Elliot had invited Toby out after the trial, but he'd explained why, and Toby seemed to accept it. Toby couldn't think he was gay, could he? Elliot had been married. He'd had kids. So had Toby. But Elliot was way, way over the end of the chart heterosexual. Nobody had ever had reason to think anything else.

"Elliot?"

He blinked. "Sorry?"

Toby let out a soft laugh. "Don't worry about it. Even I find real estate boring."

"Listen, I want to ask you something, and I don't want you to take it the wrong way." Elliot winced. Never a good opening.

"Okay," Toby said, cautiously.

"Do you find me attractive?" Toby's eyes widened, and Elliot put out his hands. "I don't want you to. I mean, I don't care if you do or you don't." He sounded like a moron. "I'm just asking if that's why we're hanging out. Why you're here."

Toby was trying to hide his smile, and doing a piss-poor job of it. "You're afraid I'm hitting on you."

"No. I'm not afraid of... I was just worrying I'd somehow given you the impression I'm, I don't know..."

Toby was smiling openly now at Elliot's inability to say the word, which might have been a good sign. "Blind monks find you attractive. But no, I don't have any nefarious intentions."

Elliot resisted the urge to remind Toby he was straight, like some kind of... repressed straight guy. "You paid a lot of attention to me back when we questioned you in November."

"I'm starting to think you're hitting on me."

"No! No, I'm just-"

"Relax, Elliot. I haven't bad-touched you, have I? We're friends."

"All right."

Toby picked up the cheese shaker, let it occupy his hands. "It bothers you, doesn't it? That I fuck men?"

"Of course not." Elliot stopped himself from wrinkling his nose at the language. 'Gay' would have been descriptive enough. It bothered Elliot that Toby fucked so many men, that he let guys use him that way, but Elliot doubted Toby would appreciate hearing that. It bothered Elliot that Tobias Beecher was a rape victim, a father with a traumatised daughter, and Nikos Perro had described him as a hole for his cock.

Toby just stared at him, not believing a word of it.

"Whatever consenting adults do, that's none of my business."

"'None of my business,' is code for 'It bothers me but I'll keep my mouth shut.'" Toby put down the shaker and twisted to check if the food was coming, obviously hoping the subject was going to be changed.

Elliot felt like a jerk. "I didn't mean it like that." There was only one way to get Toby back. Elliot hated honesty, but he wasn't such an asshole that he wouldn't do it when he had to. "A couple of years back, it would have got to me. I would have told you it didn't, but it would have been bullshit." Toby was paying attention, at least. "But then we had this case... I think I told you about the homophobic psychiatrist with the gay son?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, it doesn't matter, but Casey - our ADA - was still new to SVU. She asked me if any of my kids were gay, and I almost choked. She threw it out there like she was asking if they liked baseball, and then I'll bet five minutes later she forgot all about it." He shook his head, remembering. "Not me. I chewed on that for days. Christ - weeks. Realised if any of them had come out to me, that would've been the reaction they got: paralysis. And y'know, I don't think any of them are gay but if they are, I want to be the kind of father who'd hear it and just say, 'Okay,' and not even blink." He wanted to handle it better than Finn did when he found out about his son last year.

"Are you that kind of father now?"

He wouldn't like it, but the idea didn't make him choke. Was that enough? "I think so. I played the 'What if?' game in my head until it just didn't matter anymore. I want my kids to be happy. Why should it matter who they love, as long as someone loves them back?"

"Even if they date lawyers?"

Elliot smiled. "Even if. If they can find one with a soul. You should do what makes you happy, Toby. And fuck me or anyone who has a problem with it."

Elliot expected a chuckle or a retort, but Toby just looked sad, all of a sudden.

"What?"

"You just reminded me of someone."

"Here we go, guys, one family size with the lot. Will you be needing anything else? Refills on those sodas?"

"Sure. Refills would be great, thanks."

Elliot wanted to ask who it was, but the moment was broken and maybe it was best to leave it that way. Not every conversation had to dredge through the misery of Toby's life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The door opened and Dee flinched, squeezing Elliot's hand tighter. Her unbandaged eye was round and dark with fear.

"It's okay, Dee. It's Olivia. Do you remember her?"

She turned her head twice to say no, black plaits dragging against the pillow.

Elliot wasn't surprised. She'd been well out of it when they came in. "She's a friend of mine, a detective like me."

Olivia gave the gentle smile she saved for kids. "Hi Dee. Whatcha been doing?"

Elliot gestured to the pictures spread across the hospital bed's swinging table. "We've been drawing."

Olivia's eyes played over the papers. She would have talked to Huang outside before she came in, but she could have picked the theme up for herself.

Dee still hadn't spoken. It had been a high point this morning when Elliot got her to swap which hand was holding his so she could feed herself, and then be coaxed into using the pencils Huang brought.

"Dee, I brought someone to see you."

A woman stepped in. "Sweetheart!" and he could hear Dee let out a breath, reaching her free hand. This had to be the aunt Munch had been searching for, the closest relative this little girl had now. She touched Dee's face and then pulled her into a hug, and Elliot stretched his fingers, bereft.

"You okay?" Olivia asked softly.

"I'm going to get a needle for this son of a bitch."

"Lawyer's already got him back on the street."

Elliot's hands curled into fists, and he turned away in case Dee saw his face. Liv put a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon." She tugged him out the door, out of Dee's hearing, but he made sure the door was ajar so she could see he was still close. "Munch and Finn are on him. Huang's headed back to the house to write up a profile. The lab's processing. Cragen sent me to order you to go home."

"You think that's gonna help?"

"Go and kiss your kids. Get some sleep. You've been with Dee all day, and she's going to need you again tomorrow. Maybe a night's sleep will get her talking."

Kathy had taken the kids up to her sister's for the weekend, and there was nothing in Elliot's apartment to clear his head, but he had a much better idea. He needed a decent meal and a patient ear. "All right."

Olivia blinked. "Really?"

"I said all right."

"All right, you'll go home, or all right, you're going to give me the run-around and start chasing all the witnesses we already questioned?"

Elliot rubbed his face. "I'm wrecked, and I can barely think straight. That little girl may never get her left eye back. She's never going to sleep again. We got her out of there, and I don't even know what for. So she can face a whole new set of traumas with court and grieving her parents and living in terror of strangers."

Olivia pressed her lips. She knew the tune. Had her own verses.

"I gotta get out of here." Elliot ducked back inside to spend a few more minutes with Dee, promising her he'd be back tomorrow, then took the elevator with Olivia. He waited until they parted ways on the street before he pulled out his phone and dialled. 

"Hey!"

"Please tell me you're free tonight."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Actually, I have Holly."

Damn, Elliot had completely forgotten. If he went back to his empty apartment, he was going to do something stupid.

"Why don't you come over anyway? I'm making dinner."

"No. Sorry. Don't worry about it." Maybe he should call Liv, see if she wanted to catch a drink.

"Something's up. Come and hang out. We can talk after she's in bed."

"I don't want to intrude on your time with Holly."

"It's not an intrusion. The therapist says I should be modelling healthy adult relationships, and you're the only adult relationship I've got. Consider it a good deed."

Elliot rubbed his forehead. He'd called because he needed to blow off steam, not to mess up Toby's time with his daughter.

"She remembers you. She knows we have dinner. Don't be weird about it."

Elliot snorted, grateful to be convinced. "Sure. Does she like board games?"

"Loves them."

"I'll bring a word game. I don't soft-pedal for the kid."

"She's reading at college level." You could hear the fatherly pride beaming down the phone. "She'll kick your ass."


	7. Ian Tate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 6:  
> Toby was woken in the night by Elliot, bubbling with rage and more like Chris than he'd ever been, horrified that he'd scared Lizzie with his temper. Elliot told Olivia that he befriended Toby, and she got Elliot wondering about the nature of Toby's interest, which led to an awkward conversation over pizza, in which Toby assured Elliot he wasn't hoping for sex, and Elliot assured Toby that he wasn't a homophobe. After a day in hospital with a severely traumatised girl, Elliot welcomed a chance to escape to join Toby and Holly for the evening.

"Hi, Holly."

"Hello, Elliot. Come in." She stepped aside and gestured a welcome, with a polite smile and serious eyes.

Elliot squashed the memory of the quivering girl he'd left in the hospital. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm fine." His kids would have been hollering for whoever owned the guest to come to the door. Holly reached for his coat as he shrugged it off, and hung it up on a hook. He wondered if her manners came from living the only child life, or being raised by her rich grandmother. Maybe she was just nervous about cops who'd once threatened to arrest her father.

"Dad's in the kitchen." She pointed towards the room with the sounds and smells of cooking. Please excuse me, I have to finish my homework."

"Thanks, Holly."

He put his things on the table and glanced around. So this was where Toby lived. It was more modest than Elliot had expected, neat but lived-in, definitely male in the furnishings but there were bottles of nail polish by the couch and a stack of DVDs that looked like they could have been borrowed from Lizzie's collection. There were three ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, a few children's books mixed in.

On the wall there were recent photos of Toby and Holly hugging each other and sharing cheesy grins, a couple of them posed more formally with a younger boy who had to be Harry. He had tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, nothing like either of them. There were some of extended family. And some from years past. Elliot was just moving in for a better look when Toby called, "In here, Elliot."

He'd have to snoop some other time. "Hey To-" He stopped in the doorway. "I'm sorry. If I'd known this was a special occasion..."

Toby wiped his floury hands on a towel, looking confused. "No occasion." His cheeks were rosy and the steam was making his hair fall in wet curls, his loose charcoal polo shirt cling to his body. He was surrounded by dirty bowls and simmering pots, the sort of chaos Elliot used to expect for big events for his family of six.

He looked at the colander sitting by the sink. "Is that gnocchi?"

"Yes."

Elliot looked at the flour scattered over the counter. "From scratch?"

"You haven't had gnocchi if you've only had the store-bought stuff."

"I had it in a restaurant once."

"Mine's better."

"I'm sure." Elliot moved in and lifted a couple of lids. There was tomato sauce and pink shrimp. It smelled really good.

Toby stirred the sauce and then gave Elliot his full attention. "Did you want to talk? Holly studies with her music on, so..."

"Nah. Maybe later." He was too keyed up to get started on the little girl in the hospital now, and he already felt like a jerk for stomping into Toby's home in this mood. 

There were a couple of school notices and a coloured pencil drawing of jellyfish stuck to the fridge - Holly's presumably, but pretty good for an eleven year-old. Elliot fetched bowls and utensils when Toby asked, got a peek inside cupboards with every tool you could imagine for gourmet cooking but only four dinner plates.

"You sure I'm not interrupting something? After the divorce I expanded my culinary skills into making spaghetti with sauce from a jar, and buying a book on different ways to cook vegetables. I didn't start making gnocchi from scratch."

Toby turned back to the stove to take the lid off the sauce. "Yeah, well, you spend eight years eating mystery meat and industrial-boiled vegetables, and see if you change your tune. First thing I did when I got out of prison was start learning how to cook." He tipped in the gnocchi and shrimp and stirred them though. "Once we moved out of my mother's, Holly and I got to going through recipe books, figuring it out together. I've got the touch with the baked dinners, but she makes an angel food cake that'll bring tears to your eyes, and she can de-bone a fish like a master chef. This is almost ready. Make yourself comfortable."

Elliot stripped off his tie and popped a couple of buttons, but he was still wearing his gun so he left his jacket on.

Toby bustled around pulling everything together, filling bowls he'd heated in the oven, directing Elliot where to grab silverware for the table. He seemed happy in here: the juggling act of preparing food, the satisfaction of making something Holly would like. It was nice to watch.

It was all laid out before he called Holly to eat. She wandered out and snatched up a dumpling with her fingers, nodding in approval. "Tastes good, Dad."

"How's your homework going?"

"Done. Did you find the rosemary?"

"It was behind the cheese box. You got the math figured out?"

"It was in the other book."

They took their seats and passed around the pepper and cheese, and Elliot finally tasted his dinner. "Wow."

Toby smiled, and passed him the garlic bread.

 

The meal was more comfortable than Elliot expected. It took a while for Holly to get talking, but the conversation between her and Toby was equal parts teasing and caring, and once she was comfortable she chatted to Elliot like an eleven year-old who'd spent too much time with adults and not enough with kids her own age.

Holly mentioned her Uncle Angus, so Elliot found out Toby had a brother. Who was also a lawyer. They were a whole family of lawyers. Elliot asked Holly if she was going to be a lawyer, too. She wrinkled her nose. "No. I'd rather help people." Toby huffed, and Elliot grinned.

When Toby excused himself for the bathroom, she turned awkward again. Elliot was trying to think of something to ask her when she said, "Dad said you find people who hurt kids."

"That's right." Even if he couldn't always do something about it.

She picked at her fingernails. "That must be sad."

Elliot nodded. Not many kids had that kind of insight. "Yeah. It is."

"Do you find kids who've been kidnapped?"

"Sometimes. We found a little girl today." He shouldn't have said that, but Dee had been in the back of his mind all evening. He watched Holly carefully, but she seemed to take it in stride.

"Is she okay?"

Not even a little bit. He could still feel where her small fingers had dug into his. "She's scared." He wanted to call, get an update, but someone would have contacted him if there was any serious change.

Holly nodded like that made sense. "How long was she gone?"

"All night."

"That's not so long."

Not so long. It was a long time if the man who had you was hurting you. Wondering if he was stepping into forbidden territory, Elliot asked, "How long were you gone?"

"Fourteen days."

Hell. Only years of practice kept Elliot's face and tone neutral. For some reason he'd thought it was a couple of days. "That's a long time."

She glanced towards the hallway where Toby had disappeared. "Not as long as Dad was gone."

Elliot had never dug for details on Holly's kidnap. He didn't know if she'd been hurt, or starved, or bound. If she and Gary had been left alone in a basement somewhere or held by the guy who took them. Fourteen days. Toby must have been out of his mind.

He looked at Holly, who was staring at him through wide blue eyes just like her father's. "Are you okay?"

She shrugged. "I'm okay." Had she drawn pictures of a monster for her investigating detectives? If Dee ever managed to be this close to okay, Elliot could live with it.

 

Elliot was playing with the game tiles, rearranging words when Toby came out from saying goodnight to Holly. "Think I can get a refund from Harvard on my law degree?"

Elliot blinked. Toby was wearing glasses. He offered up a grin. "I'm not just a dumb cop."

Toby's hand squeezed his shoulder, right by his neck. It felt good. "I never thought that."

Elliot had forgotten Toby wore glasses. He'd noticed the contacts, never thought too much about it. He looked different in wire-rims. Geeky. It was a good look on Toby.

Toby smiled, and gestured at his face. "Yeah, I know. I've learned not to wait until I'm cross-eyed tired to take the contacts out. I'm going to get a glass of water. Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

Elliot spelled out 'recidivist' as that hand drifted away. Holly was great. Sweet and funny. Word-smart, which wasn't a surprise for a kid who felt safer with books than people. She'd given Elliot a run for his money while Toby was floundering. Typical lawyer: too busy dragging around big words to win rounds with small ones.

Holly adored her dad. How did Toby pull that off, with eight years gone? Elliot struggled to hold on with his living ten minutes away.

Toby put down his glass and slid into his seat. "So do you want to tell me what happened today?"

Elliot huffed. He'd actually let it go, for a while there. He looked up, saw the bright focus in Toby's eyes, ready and willing to listen. "I don't like lawyers."

"It's a common complaint."

"I don't know how some of them sleep at night." The perps Elliot understood, but the lawyers... Kressler had Hinton on the streets before Dee managed to let go of Elliot's hand. "Sometimes after I spend a few hours interrogating one of these scumbags, I have trouble looking my kids in the eye. How does anyone fight to get somebody like that off on a technicality, and then go home to their family?"

Toby looked away, silent, and Elliot kicked himself.

"I'm not talking about your accident, Toby. I'm talking about serial killers. Rapists."

"I know." Toby looked even more uncomfortable, but harping the point probably wouldn't help. Maybe Toby was thinking about the lawyer who set Holly's kidnapper free.

It didn't matter anymore; the afternoon's rage was gone, Dee was going to need him tomorrow, and thinking about it now just made him feel tired. "I don't want to rehash it."

"You sure?"

He waved a tile. "This was just what I needed tonight. Thanks."

"Okay."

They cleaned up the game and gravitated towards the kitchen. Toby waved off Elliot's offer to help as he loaded the dishwasher and wiped down, relaxed in a way Elliot never got to see in crowded restaurants. In short sleeves Elliot could see Toby's toned body, a sharp contrast to the geeky glasses and hair cut. He obviously still worked out. Elliot wondered if Toby had always been that way, or if it was a habit he'd picked up in prison. Elliot wondered how Toby had reacted when some anonymous cop told him his kids were missing.

"How are your kids doing?"

"Fine. Kathleen's dating an idiot."

Toby grinned. "Could be worse. She could be dating a law student."

"Not as long as I've got a gun." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "I know you're not supposed to turn this stuff into a battle, but Kathy and I started way too young. Every time she mentions a guy, my knuckles go white."

"It sounds like your kids turned out pretty well."

Elliot shook his head. "I love 'em to death, wouldn't change them for the world, but I don't want their lives to be as hard as ours were."

Toby squeezed the sponge dry and turned to lean back on the sink. "I worry Holly won't date idiots. I worry she won't take risks. She can't spend her life hiding in books and protecting me."

"She's only eleven. She'll hit the teens soon, and I promise she'll be sneaking around behind your back and doing her best to turn your hair white."

Toby smiled. "I can hope."

"There may even be piercings."

He chuckled. "I can't wait."

Elliot paused, cocked his head. "I could almost believe you're serious."

"I am. Look, I'm not saying part of me doesn't want to drag her into the house and board the doors, but I don't want her to live like that. Prison sucked; I'm not going to let myself build one for her."

Was that what Toby thought Elliot was doing with his kids? When Kathy said things like that, Elliot told her she didn't know how many terrible people were out there. He couldn't say that to Toby.

Toby closed the last cupboard door.

Elliot checked the time. "I should get going. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Toby came closer. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Some cases get to you more than others. This was what I needed tonight, thank you." If Dee's aunt could do half as well as Toby and his parents, she'd be okay. He hoped.

"Any time."

"And thanks for dinner. It was amazing. I never eat like that."

"You'll have to come over again. Holly's getting jaded by the gourmet cooking, keeps begging me for chicken nuggets. I've told her no way, no how, are those fucking things coming through my door."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby cracked the door just far enough to let the light fall across Holly's curled body. The one thing in the world he'd somehow failed to fuck up was his relationship with her. God knew he didn't deserve her loyalty, but he had it anyway. It was a scary burden to carry.

He understood Elliot's wish to keep his children safe at all costs, to hold onto their childhood as long as possible, but that's where Gary was: locked at eight years old for eternity. He was never going to cheat on a test or sneak behind the gym to smoke pot or hand his heart over to someone who'd break it.

It was one of the questions that plagued him most: would he want her to have a lover like Chris? Toby wanted Holly to know a love that fierce, to feel the passion of someone who would sacrifice everything for her. But the idea of that much pain... Could you have one without the other?

The nervous affection Toby felt for Chris the first time they kissed wasn't even comparable to the terrifying love he felt after he'd dragged his heart through hell, when he offered it up, broken. When they came together in the new years' lockdown, Chris had seeped through every crack, every scratch, and into his bones. Some days Toby worried Holly would find someone who would consume her like that. Some days he worried she wouldn't.

A father was supposed to hope his daughter married someone stable and hardworking and protective. Responsible. Someone like Elliot.

Toby hoped she found something more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Casey was there as Elliot came through the door. "How's Dee doing?"

Elliot threw the manila folder on his desk and sprawled in his chair. "She's talking a little." He glanced up at Casey and flipped the folder open. "Tell me you can get these admitted."

Casey picked up one picture after another, lips growing thinner with each one. "I'll try. What did she tell you?"

"The nightmares woke her up, so she stayed awake all night, drawing these for me." Elliot put his finger on a jagged black stick figure. "That's Hinton." He dug through, found the one where he was unmistakeably holding an axe, glanced up to check Casey saw it too. She did. "That's her mom. Her dad. Her brother."

"Do you think she'll be able to talk a jury through them?"

"I don't know." It wasn't lunch yet, and Elliot was exhausted. Every word had been dragged out of her, and her aunt was starting to get protective. He wasn't sure she was wrong to push Elliot out of there. They were building a pretty decent case but that wasn't going to do much for Dee. "Where's Hinton now?"

"Central booking. At least he's back in custody."

Elliot wished he could have interrogated the son of a bitch, though there was a good chance it would have got him drummed out of the force. "I want that scumbag to fry." The words burst out of him, and he caught himself searching his desk for something heavy to throw. Something that would break glass or crack a wall, let out a little of this pressure.

Casey stared at the pictures, looked at Elliot and narrowed her eyes. "We'll get him, Elliot."

She headed back to her office, and Elliot dug his fingers into his knees as Cragen wandered over. "Where's Liv?"

"She's tracking down witnesses with Munch." Cragen reached for one of the drawings, looked it over and put it back. "Elliot. There's someone here to see you."

Elliot closed his eyes. He was done with people right now. "Who is it?"

"Wouldn't give his name, but he looks damned familiar."

Elliot's skin prickled. Not Toby. Toby wouldn't come here, surely. He was ashamed for thinking it, but he didn't want to hear what Cragen or anyone else thought of Elliot befriending their Franco's witness.

He dumped his pen and turned to see the person Cragen was pointing at coming down the stairs from the lounge. He knew who it was the instant he laid eyes on him. Older now, but there was no mistake. "Ian Tate."

Tate looked surprised, "You remember me."

"Yeah. I remember you." He'd put on a little weight, got a better haircut, but his was one of the faces Elliot had never forgotten. "What's up?" Elliot prayed it wasn't another disaster in the kid's life.

"Nothing."

Elliot raised his eyebrows.

"Really. I just..." He looked around, uncomfortable. There couldn't have been any good memories for him in this place.

"Is this official business?"

"No."

Then they had an out. "Look, I'm due for a break. There's a coffee stand right outside - you want to come down, grab a cup?"

"Sure."

Elliot met Cragen's eyes as he grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. Cragen didn't actually look disapproving, which was as good as a blessing. Elliot wondered if he'd made the connection yet, or if he was headed to his office to run a search on the name.

Ian Tate, gay son of famed anti-homosexual researcher Dr Roger Tate, a not-so-loving father who murdered Ian's boyfriend. Roger Tate was doing twenty-to-life in Rikers thanks to the 16th Precinct.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot sprung for both of them, and then led Tate over to a quiet spot by the wall of the station house, out of the wind. March had chased away the worst of the winter chill, thank god, but there wasn't much sign of spring yet. "What can I do for you?"

"It's not," he started, and stopped. "Now this just seems stupid."

"Just tell me what you've got to say."

"I'm all right." He shrugged, with an awkward smile.

"Okay..."

"Told you it was stupid."

Elliot sipped his coffee, hoping Tate was going to get to his point soon.

"I've been trying to work up the courage for this for a couple of weeks. Wasn't sure you'd care. Didn't really think you'd remember me."

"I do."

"I was driving past the other week, and I thought of this place and everything that happened, and I wanted to let you know that things worked out for me. I'm with an organisation that helps gay kids from religious families. I'm dating a good guy. I even visit my dad in Riker's sometimes."

"That's great." Why was he telling Elliot this?

"I guess not a lot of ex-suspects check in two years later to thank you."

"Not a lot."

"I just... I was thinking you guys see a lot of screwed up people, but you probably don't get to see what happens to them unless things get bad again. I figured you should know sometimes people turn out all right."

The pieces fell into place."I wasn't the only one on that case." But maybe Elliot was the only one who'd mentioned the case to a friend, a few weeks ago.

"I know. I wrote a letter to Casey Novak a while back, but maybe you could tell everyone else up there? Just tell them thanks. What you guys did... making me face who I am, who my dad is... I'm glad you did."

"So nobody sent you here?"

A slight smile tugged at the kid's mouth. "Didn't your ADA ever tell you to be careful what questions you asked?"

Yeah, she told him that all the time. Elliot wanted to kick Toby's ass for traipsing over his work, but first he needed to know: "Are you really all right?"

Tate gave a little snort. "I'm not saying it doesn't stick with me. I miss James all the time. But I don't hate myself anymore. My dad doesn't get to define me. I'm happy."

"That's... good."

"I know this is weird, me just showing up. But seriously - I need to thank you. You guys gave me a second chance, a whole new life." He offered his hand to shake. "Thank you."

Elliot didn't know what it was that got through: the outstretched hand, the look, or just hearing a thank you that he didn't hear too often in his line of work. Sometimes it came from victims, grasping for any scrap of kindness or human decency, but never from anyone who came looking for him two years later to tell him there was a happy ending.

They shook, and Tate walked away, and Elliot took his time finishing his coffee.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot dug through their files on Hinton with a whole new vigour, cross-checking every credit card charge, every phone call, every associate he had. They were going to get this bastard for Dee. Olivia came back and they pooled their information. The rest of the day was a whirl of interviews, a quick visit with Dee, who actually smiled when she saw him, and a little time left over to trawl through Hinton's financials as the clock ticked towards five-thirty.

Olivia sat back, watching him. Elliot pretended not to notice as he made a note to check into this payment to Chappaqua Auto Body.

"You seem a lot better today."

"You were right. I needed a night off." He was going to take another one tonight. He swept a couple of pens into his top drawer, tidied away everything he wasn't working on. As soon as the clock ticked over, he was out of here, and on his way to drop in on Toby. Olivia's patient stare finally pulled his head up "Dee's going to be okay."

Liv's lips thinned. "I hope so."

"She will. She's strong, and her aunt cares. We'll interview the guys from the bakery tomorrow, and find out why he needed his car repaired, and we're going to hand Casey a case that a monkey couldn't lose."

"Somebody's been eating his Wheaties."

Elliot leaned on his elbows. "Do you remember Ian Tate? His homophobic father murdered his lover? Tate almost took the fall?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"I had coffee with him this morning."

"First Beecher, now Tate?"

Elliot ignored the tease. "He just stopped in to say he was doing all right. He's got a job, a life, a boyfriend. He's happy being out of the closet, at peace with himself." And Holly Beecher was a little shy, prone to nightmares, but a smart, happy kid. "I don't always know what we're going here, but today I've got a pretty good idea." And now it was five-thirty. Elliot dropped the file in his drawer and stood, hesitating when he saw the way Olivia was looking at him now. "Do you need me to do anything else?

"No, I'm just finishing up this report. I was going to ask if you wanted to get some dinner since you're in such a good mood, but it looks like you've got plans."

Yes, Elliot had plans, but Olivia was looking at him like she suspected he had a date, so he wasn't going to tempt her to ask. He had to find Toby and ask what the hell he was doing, digging into Elliot's old cases. And then thank him for it. It was maybe a little weird, just how much Elliot was looking forward to seeing him.


	8. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 7:  
> Elliot joined Toby and Holly for a gourmet dinner, which stirred a little envy at their relationship but also made Elliot more hopeful for the future of his latest kidnap victim. Toby reflected on his hopes for Holly: whether he'd want her to love someone the way he loved Chris.  
> Former suspect/victim Ian Tate randomly dropped in on Elliot to let him know he was doing okay, and it made Elliot's day a whole let better. Still, he's going to have words with Toby about interfering in his job.

Toby juggled his bags out of the taxi, threading them along his arms and cradling the bread, wishing had an extra hand to tighten his scarf and praying the bag with the milk hanging on his last two fingers wouldn't tear any further before he made it upstairs.

The bread was lifted away, and then the milk, and Toby's heart did the little skip and fall it always did when Chris's face or voice took him by surprise. "Maybe it's time you invested in a car."

Elliot, not Chris. Elliot didn't need to be reminded what happened the last time Toby drove a car.

Toby didn't know what Elliot was doing here, but it didn't seem to be any kind of emergency so he kept his mouth shut as Elliot took a couple more bags, freeing Toby to reach for his keys. Toby didn't have that moment of surprise often anymore. Elliot who squirmed when Toby flirted over pizza and teased Holly over board games was a world away from Chris.

Elliot held the front door open with his elbow as Toby pushed through, and then followed him up the stairs. He'd never dropped by before, but Toby was grateful for the extra hands. "Mind the milk. Bag's split."

"Sure." Toby heard him adjusting the load.

Into the apartment to the kitchen counter, and Toby kept himself to a questioning glance as he started unpacking. He didn't mind that Elliot was here, but he guessed there was a reason.

"I had a visitor today."

"Who was that?" Milk and meat in the fridge.

"Does the name Ian Tate sound familiar to you?"

Toby pulled his head out of the fridge. "He came?" Toby had given up hope that Tate would go see Elliot, but he'd chickened out of finding someone else.

"Yeah. He stopped by for a coffee and a postscript." His stern expression said he'd detectived out exactly how Tate came to find him, so Toby didn't bother to play innocent.

"You have every right to be angry."

"You bet I do. You can't go digging into my work."

"Famed homophobic psychiatrist murders son's boyfriend: it wasn't difficult to track down the case." It felt stupid now, with Elliot standing here glaring at him. "Look, I'm not expecting... I just wanted to... It felt good to do something for you." Toby looked up, incapable of resisting. "I wasn't trying to... You are straight, aren't you?" Toby said it for the fun of seeing Elliot grind his teeth. With maybe just a shred of hope that Elliot would waver and Toby would finally have that chance to close his eyes and pretend it was Chris beneath him.

"Be serious, Toby."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He was such a liar.

"You didn't. As long as you know I'm not..." Elliot waved a hand, incapable of saying the word.

"I'm teasing." In the dark at night, Toby still allowed himself the occasional fantasy of Elliot turning into Chris: breaking off in the middle of some conversation about their kids to shove Toby against a wall and grope him and declare how much he missed him, how hard he was going to fuck him after lights-out. Toby had never actually fantasised about Elliot: uncomfortably straight and emotionally repressed.

"Toby, you can't-"

"I just wanted you to know that people do re-build their lives. I know one person's not much, and maybe not everyone manages, and even the best cases can't go back to who they were before, but you're the first step in making sense of it all. You don't get to see where they are after thirty or a hundred steps, but trust me, that first step matters the most of all." Toby realised he was arguing instead of apologising, and added, "I'm sorry."

Elliot frowned some more, and swallowed. "Thank you."

Toby was hunching, awaiting an eruption. "So... you're not going to haul me back to the parole board?"

"Nobody's ever done anything like that for me before." His voice was rough, but he cleared his throat. "My family put up with a lot more than they should, and Olivia and the Captain, the squad, they've got my back. No one ever went so far out of their way just to..."

"Meddle with your job?"

"Remind me that it means something. Seriously, Toby - thank you." A hand landed on Toby's shoulder and squeezed. Toby's mouth went dry.

He couldn't believe Elliot was taking it so well. "Don't worry about it."

"Just don't do it again, all right?"

Toby held off on saying yes. "As long as you promise you won't write Ian Tate off as a one-off freak good fortune."

"Deal." Elliot smiled as his hand slipped away. "I should be getting going. Where's Holly?"

"Gone to see a movie with a friend. Stick around a while. You want a drink? No beer, but I've got juice, soda, coffee?" Elliot hesitated, but it looked like he was being polite instead of reluctant, so Toby pulled out a couple of glasses. "Apple juice?"

"Sure. How's she doing?"

"Good. Excited: we're spending the weekend at Mother's, Harry's coming to stay, my brother Angus is bringing his sons. Big family weekend."

"You're going to see Harry? That's great."

"Yeah. Haven't seen him since Christmas, so..."

"It must be hard."

"Yeah." He'd had two weeks when he got out, a quick visit in October and then Thanksgiving and winter break. Toby had assumed he'd see Harry every month, but Harry had his own life and plans, and over two months had slipped by. Toby felt almost as nervous as he had that first time Harry came to stay. He still hadn't figured out if it was harder dealing with the nerves in the lead-up, or saying goodbye at the end of Harry's visits, and he didn't want to tempt Elliot to offer advice about that. "How's your big case going?"

"We've got him. Now we're just nailing down the details, making sure the case is bullet-proof. I want to make sure this scumbag gets the needle."

"The death penalty?" Toby tried to control his tone, but Elliot read Toby's face and put his drink down on the counter.

"You're against the death penalty?" It was the same tone he would have used to ask if Toby was against puppies, or the laughter of children.

He'd been against it in a vague, theoretical sense before Oz, and Sister Pete's regular tirades had him leaning further away, but then there was the fight to keep Chris alive. Never mind the day he'd found himself with his own needle looming after Chris's suicide. And the execution of Cyril O'Reilly was about the least-just thing he ever saw in Oz. These days there was nothing vague or theoretical about Toby's feelings about the death penalty. "I don't think it does anyone any good."

Elliot's lip curled. "Really? It doesn't do you any good to know the man who traumatised Holly and killed Gary is dead?"

For a knee-weakening second Toby thought Elliot knew. But he didn't, and he couldn't ever. "I wanted to tear him to pieces. I wanted it to be slow and brutal and painful. That's why justice shouldn't be in my hands." Elliot's expression was disbelief, even a little disgust. "That's what would have happened if he'd been within my reach in Oz. I think the legal system should be more civilised than what went on between the animals in there."

"If you'd seen the things I've-"

"How many times do I need to be raped before I get a vote, Detective? How many of my children to do I need to bury?"

Elliot shut his mouth. He dipped his head.

Toby turned away, started shoving groceries in cupboards. He was a hypocrite. He had his guilt over all the Schillingers' deaths to keep him awake at night, but maybe that was a luxury he wouldn't imagine if he was still kept awake wondering when the next chapter of their feud would tear another hole in his family. Toby wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned back against the counter. "I understand why you feel differently. But in eight years I saw enough eye for an eye to last a lifetime."

"I'm sorry."

Toby shrugged. Now the kitchen was too small, and the quiet was awkward. Toby's phone buzzed and he checked the message, grateful for the interruption. "Holly's on her way home."

Elliot drained his glass and put it in the sink. "I'll get going, then. Thanks for the juice."

In minutes Toby had gone from being the guy who gave Elliot's job meaning to making Elliot's job sound petty and vengeful. "Elliot..."

Elliot turned back, brow creased, jaw hard. "Are you under the impression I'm angry with you?"

Yes. "Your angry face isn't that different from your other faces."

He huffed, and rubbed his palms against his eyes. "Would you believe I've been told I'm good with trauma victims?"

"Yes." Toby said it without hesitation.

"I don't know where you get your capacity for forgiveness."

Toby wanted to laugh. Some days Elliot didn't seem to get him at all. "Forgiveness would be overstating it. Eventually staying angry is just too exhausting. I don't know what caused the most destruction in my life: alcohol or anger. Alcohol was a hell of a lot easier to quit."

They reached the door, and Elliot's hand was on the handle when he turned back again. "Seriously, Toby. Why'd you send Ian Tate after me?"

Because it wasn't fair that Elliot spent his days fighting to bring the Schillingers of the world to justice, and seemed to be dragging just as much guilt around as Toby the fuck-up and addict and murderer. Maybe that was even the main reason. "You really don't know why?"

Elliot just waited, blank, like he couldn't think of a single reason why anyone would want to be nice to him.

Maybe it was because Elliot deserved to borrow a little relief from his remorseless twin. Chris had felt the fire of hell, but he'd never really felt guilt. A little for betraying Toby, but not for any of the people he killed, not even for those innocent college boys. 

"I never got to meet the agents who captured Hank Schillinger. I don't know who snatched Holly out of the way as the FBI tackled Hank on my parents' lawn, or who took her to a little room to dredge through the details. Back then, the only thing that mattered was seeing she was alive and whole. I never thought about any of them until I saw how you let it all wear away at you. The stuff you do... you should be proud of it."

And now Elliot was doing that coy shuffling thing, and Toby wondered how he ever confused him with Chris. Toby thought he was going to rebuff the compliment again, but he only nodded. "We're on for dinner next week?

"Yeah. I'll be able to tell you all about my big family adventure."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot pushed the twins through the door ahead of him, saw from Kathy's sympathetic look that she knew exactly how dinner had been. New York was having a warm snap, but there was a chill wind blowing between Dickie and Lizzie. They hadn't stopped sniping all night. She threw the sponge in the sink and kissed the kids hello and then kicked them upstairs to get ready for school tomorrow.

Elliot pulled a chair from the table and sat. "How long's that been going on?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's been nothing but all week."

"Do you know what started it?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Dick has a girl."

He looked at her properly. "Really?"

"I don't think he's figured it out yet, but Lizzie has. He's all 'Alison this,' and Alison that,' can't hang out with Lizzie because Alison wants to go to the library."

The library? Dickie? "So they're just friends? He hasn't asked her out?" He faintly remembered an Alison being mentioned at dinner. Lizzie had said something catty and Dickie had jumped down her throat.

"He hasn't said anything, but there's this amazing new friend in his life, and all he wants to do is hang out with her. What do you call that?"

Friendship. A flush crept up Elliot's neck. He called it friendship. "People can be friends without it being something more."

She heaved a sigh. "Don't start with that too-young business."

"I'm not saying he's too young. I'm just saying maybe we shouldn't blow this up into something it isn't."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who's blowing things up? Credit me with some insight, El. He's been bubbling whenever Liz isn't picking fights. Maybe he's not ready to understand what his hormones are telling him, but I know a crush when I see one." She picked up the sponge like she was about to get back to work, and put it down again. "I'll be honest, Elliot. I thought you'd have more trouble with Liz growing up than Dick."

Elliot wished he remembered how to do this better. What the hell did it matter whether Dickie had a thing for a girl? "I'm sorry. I wasn't... I didn't mean to be, you know. Me." He pushed out an apologetic smile.

Kathy gave him a long look. "He's not the only one acting different."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just that you seem to be in a good mood lately."

"I'm hearing that a lot."

"So what's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Elliot?"

"Kathy." If she asked him if he was dating, this was going to get too awkward.

"Fine."

After a tense moment they smiled at each other. They were getting better at this post-divorce communication. It was a little sad.

"Do you need anything?"

She reached into the letter file. "A couple of bills to pay."

He slid them into his pocket without opening them. "Anything else?"

"You should stick around. Kathleen will be home soon."

"Is there time to escape?" He didn't get up.

Kathy joined him at the table. "You need to talk to her, Elliot."

"That never goes well."

"Not at her. To her." On cue, they heard a car pull up out front. "Here's your first tip. Don't ask where she's been tonight. Or about boys. There are other things in her life than boys. There are friends and movies and sports. Remember when you talked about those?"

"Remember when I could make her laugh just by throwing her above my head?"

Kathy's lip curled up. "You're welcome to try that."

Kathleen's face fell when she saw him in the kitchen. "Dad. What are you doing here?"

"I had dinner with Dickie and Lizzie, thought I'd stick around to see you. How are you?"

"Fine." She wasn't moving from the doorway. She folded her arms, but it didn't hide that her blouse was almost see-through. Kathy let her go out in that? Elliot looked at Kathy, but Kathy had her arms folded too, waiting for him to screw this up.

He pushed out a chair. "It's not a trap. I just wanted to say hello." Elliot didn't know why he could do this so easily with traumatised strangers, but failed so completely with Kathleen. "Seen any good movies lately?"

She arched an eyebrow, but came and sat, dropping her bag beside her. "No."

"I couldn't sleep the other night. Ended up watching a Lethal Weapon marathon."

"How many procedural violations did you count?"

"Seventy-two."

She snorted a little laugh, didn't let it reach her lips but Elliot felt he was getting somewhere anyway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot drew a pink highlighter line though the $84 charge to Toys R Us. They'd have to check that purchase.

The chat with Kathleen had gone okay. She'd stuck around when Kathy went to bed, and even kissed his cheek when they said goodnight. If he could just never broach the subject of drinking or the losers she dated, maybe they could get along. That might suit Kathleen, but it wasn't going to happen.

And now it was starting with Dickie, maybe.

Another $160 to Toys R Us two weeks later. Curious for a guy on minimum wage with no kids.

Elliot didn't have a problem with Dickie crushing on a girl - except he wished he'd known before dinner, so he could lay on a little interrogation.

It had nothing to do with Toby.

Elliot had seen Maureen and Kathleen bubbling with excitement over new friends. When Kathleen found a new clique in middle school, it was weeks of what Jenna said and what Penny wore and 'I have to have to have to go to Belinda's party.'

Another charge. Elliot looked around. "Hey, Munch. Did you see any toys when you tossed Weber's apartment? Games, anything like that?"

"Not unless you count twenty-four hunting and tactical knives."

Eliot didn't.

It had been a long time since Elliot enjoyed a new friendship as much as he enjoyed hanging out with Toby, but new friends didn't roll in every day when you were headed for your forties. Hell, the old friends didn't roll in that often. Elliot wasn't a twelve year-old boy, and he wasn't confused about who he wanted to slide into second base with. And he really couldn't believe he'd spent this much time thinking about whether he had an adolescent crush on Toby.

It bothered him that he'd been worrying over it. He wouldn't have felt so self-conscious if Toby hadn't poked him the other day about whether he was straight. Elliot had known he was being baited, but it lingered anyway. How many friends did Elliot have, who'd have chased down Ian Tate for him?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Angus leaned over Timothy's shoulder, ruffling his son's hair. "This is a fun game, Holly. Where did you get it?"

"Elliot left it at our house."

"Is he a boy from school?"

Holly looked at him like he was an idiot. "No, Uncle Angus. Dad's friend Elliot."

Toby felt all the adult eyes in the room swing in his direction, wanting to know if this was Chris all over again. Thank god none of them had ever seen Chris or Elliot. Just to be perverse, he pretended he didn't notice the stares. Let them wonder. It was none of their damned business.

He turned back to Harry's photo album instead, pointing to the two boys flanking his son. "Who's this?"

"That's Ben and Phillip. Phillip's the best windsurfer around. He won two medals at regionals. He's teaching me lots of cool stuff."

"You like being out on the water."

"Of course! It's the best."

It wouldn't have been hard to guess from Harry's complexion, already sun-browned like a sailor even though Harry promised he always wore sunscreen. With his dark hair and eyes and tan skin, he hardly looked like Toby at all. Toby could swim well enough, but aside from a couple of trips to the beach with Genevieve and the kids a decade ago, he'd never been especially interested in going in the water. He flipped to the next page to see a photo of Harry on a board, holding up a sail twice his size. He was grinning like it was the best day of his life.

"That's at Cabrillo Beach. I almost got third in my age group."

 

Of course, Toby didn't bother to hope Angus would let it drop. Browsing through the album kept him safe until Harry asked him for a drink. He headed to the kitchen, and as he turned from the fridge he found himself facing his mother and Angus. He put the glass on the counter, and waited to see if the interrogation would start with good cop or bad cop.

His mother smiled. "You've never mentioned Elliot."

Good cop, then. "There was nothing to mention. He's a friend."

"From work?"

"No."

Angus folded his arms, glanced out to check the kids were still absorbed. "From prison?"

"No."

"Are you fucking him?"

"Angus!"

"His words, Mother."

"Christ, the pair of you." Toby struggled to keep his voice low. "I can run my own life."

He expected a sarcastic retort from Angus, but it was his mother who said, "We're only concerned for you."

"Mother-"

"Maybe if we hadn't let you push us out of your life in the first place, you never would have been driving drunk that day. You don't have a monopoly on guilt, Toby."

No, but she had a mother's talent for inflicting it. He forced the defensiveness out of his voice. "He's not from prison. He's a cop. He's just a friend. We go out to eat, we talk about our kids. He's one of the better influences in my life."

She cupped his face. "Thank you, Toby. Was that so difficult?"

He sighed.

"You should have him over for dinner sometime." She kissed his cheek.

Yeah, Elliot would love being invited over to meet Toby's mother like some kind of romantic prospect.

When she headed out to the kids, Angus lingered. "She deserves better than what she gets from you."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"The way you talk to her."

Toby could see the words simmering, something he'd been biting back for god-knew how long. "Just say it, Angus."

His hesitation lasted about two more seconds. "She held it together through your trial, when you went to prison. She buried Gary and raised Holly, watched Dad go off to defend that serial killer you were fucking until it got him killed. She never let a word be said against you in all those years, and you still treat her like she's a busybody when she's just afraid you'll let it all go to shit again."

Toby's cheeks burned. Angus was right on every count.

How could he tell her anything? He broke her heart over and over, and she hardly knew the worst of it. Was he supposed to tell her he met Elliot playing witness to a rape and murder by another one of his lovers? Did she need to know that he murdered a man with his sharpened fingernails? Or that he took out the hit on Hank Schillinger, and that he made her husband a murderer too when he begged his dad to make the payment?

He would have told her all of that before he ever let her find out about those first months of rape and humiliation, because if he found out something like that happened to Holly or Harry, it would have broken him.

"She just wants to help you, Toby. For god's sake, let her help."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He knew he was pouting through the rest of the evening. It was too easy to resent Angus for reminding him what an ass he was, and too damned hard to figure out how to fix it.

But this was a weekend with Harry, so the rest of the family was going to have to take a back seat.

After Harry had brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, Toby sat by his feet and they talked awhile. It was nice. Harry always started off his visits shy and uncomfortable, but he warmed up a little faster each time. Sitting here with his shoes kicked off, listening to Harry ramble about cars, Toby almost felt like a father.

He probably lingered longer than he should have, until Harry's eyes were drooping, and then he kissed him goodnight and headed downstairs. Mother was in the kitchen, raiding the fridge.

Toby crept up behind her. "Didn't I use to get in trouble for that?"

She just raised an eyebrow. "With your father, not me. Are you going to be a tattle-tale, or help me polish off the mint ice cream?"

Toby laughed, and grabbed a couple of spoons from the drawer. They dug straight into the container together. It would have horrified his dad.

Toby let a spoon full of ice cream numb his mouth, almost sighing at the taste. Every now and then he found something he hadn't remembered since he got out, and for this moment, it was mint ice cream, flecked with chocolate chips. Incredible.

"You look happier."

"Harry wants a Ferrari F430. A black one. He was showing me pictures."

She smiled. "I'm sure he does. But I meant generally. I'm glad you have a friend."

It was the sort of thing parents were supposed to say to six year-olds, not grown men, but Toby remembered his conversation with Angus and kept his hackles down. "Yeah. He's recently divorced. We're good for each other. Getting each other out of the house."

She took another nibble of ice cream. "Have you been sober?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Would you tell me if you hadn't?"

That question was new. Toby took a minute to really think about it. She'd asked if he was sober every time they'd spoken on the phone, and he'd usually thrown off an answer like it was a rhetorical question. She deserved better. "I promise I'll always answer truthfully, okay? I haven't had a drink since that time you woke me up. Thank you for asking."

She squeezed his hand, his honesty rare enough to dampen her eyes.

God, he was such an ass. "My social life these days is pretty much Holly and Elliot and you, and I wouldn't dare drink around any of you."

"Elliot knows?"

"Yeah, he knows I'm an alcoholic. He doesn't like it, but he knows."

"Good." She took another scoop of ice cream, and shoved the container towards him.


	9. Basketball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 8:  
> Elliot grumped at Toby for digging up Ian Tate, and then thanked him. Warm fuzzies turned sour when the subject of the death penalty arose. Elliot's dinner with the twins wasn't fun. Their bickering might have been because Dickie had a crush on a girl, or maybe they're just friends, and Kathy should stop making such a big deal out of it... Meanwhile, Toby's family were making a big deal out of him having a guy friend, and Toby realised he owed his mother a little more trust.

Elliot felt like an idiot as he climbed the stairs of Toby's brownstone, basketball under his arm, but he was sure this was a good idea. Pretty sure. He probably should have called, but Toby had said yesterday he didn't have any plans, and when Elliot got a look at the weather he just picked up the ball and drove down on a whim, and here he was.

Toby answered the door in sweats and ratty old t-shirt, glasses perched on his nose, cleaning rag in his hand. "Elliot?"

"Want to come out and play?"

Toby stared at him like he'd gone crazy.

"Come on. Cragen tied me to my desk for the entire shift yesterday to catch up on paperwork, and I know you're just inside moping while Holly's at your mother's. And have you seen the sun out here? It's in the low seventies. It's spring!"

Toby eyed the ball. He probably hadn't looked outside all day. "What makes you think I play basketball?"

"Everybody plays basketball."

Toby just looked at him.

"Back at Sisters of Mercy, Sister Mary told us anytime we had impure thoughts, we should go outside and shoot hoops. That's why every house in America has a hoop."

"Catholic houses, maybe. I was raised Episcopalian. We didn't talk about impure thoughts."

Elliot was starting to feel like an idiot. "You really don't play basketball?"

Toby laughed, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. "I know the basics. C'mon, I'll go get changed."

He left the door wide, looking back over his shoulder. "Do you actually have casual clothes on?"

"No, I have a collar shirt and tie under this windbreaker."

Toby snorted as he disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Elliot to make his own way in. It was strange to realise Toby had never seen him in anything else. He'd always been on his way home from work.

Elliot dropped the ball on the couch, unzipped and peeled off his jacket. He'd be warm enough in his tank top once they started running around. He checked that Toby was still out of view before he picked up the photo that had caught his eye the last time he visited. The family were in a hospital bed: a skinny, geeky, bespectacled Toby and his pretty wife staring down at the newborn in her arms, little Holly and Gary perched on the side, smiling for the camera. Every family had a photo like this. Elliot's did. None of these people had any idea of the wreckage lying in wait. Two of them were dead, now. Elliot's heart ached.

"I don't have any tank tops, is this okay?"

Elliot put the photo down and stepped away as Toby came out in long shorts and a fresh t-shirt, glasses switched for contacts. "So you do own shorts."

Toby's face turned sober, and he reached out to touch Elliot's shoulder, let his fingers slide down the tattoo.

Elliot shivered. "What is it?" He made himself stay still.

Toby looked haunted. "I knew someone with something just like it."

"Catholic?"

He forced a little smile. "God complex." He turned away and took a second longer than he needed to grab his keys. "I hope you're not expecting me to be a decent match for you. I was more of a chess kid." The subject of the anonymous friend was locked away with the rest of Toby's secrets. The man could talk about harrowing experiences like he was discussing the weather, and it made Elliot shudder to imagine what Toby couldn't speak aloud.

"You aren't built like a chess kid."

Toby blinked, and Elliot kicked himself. It was just a comment, not a flirt, but after the way Toby just touched him, with the stuff Kathy said still in his head... Something about Toby made Elliot say stupid things. He'd noticed Toby's eyes travelling over him, and he had to remind himself not to act like a homophobe.

"Enough, I'm coming." Toby locked the door behind him and followed Elliot down the stairs. "I never suspected you had such a pathetic wet puppy look hidden beneath all that surliness."

Elliot looked at him sideways. "I don't think that was a compliment."

Toby patted his back. "You should use it more often. Might get you further than the bristling and intimidation."

"I use it sparingly, to retain its power."

Toby chuckled, and Elliot couldn't help his grin. He held the door open for Toby to go through first, and almost ploughed into the back of him on the stoop. Toby barely noticed. He'd lifted his face, eyes slitting in the sun. His hand curled over the rail, holding tight.

"Are you all right? Toby?"

It took a long moment and a long breath before Toby answered, a quiet voice like he was standing in church. "The last time I felt sun like this, I was a lawyer with a family. I don't know what I took most for granted."

Elliot couldn't help feeling it: the air was cool in the shade but the sun was warm on his skin, the sort of sure warmth that woke plants and filled your bones, reminded you what spring felt like. Even if it had been eight years since your last. He waited, quiet, until another resident coming in disturbed Toby's reverie. Toby and the woman exchanged greetings, and then Toby looked back at Elliot, sheepishly biting his lip. "Sorry."

Elliot didn't need an apology. He almost felt like he should be apologising, or thanking Toby for letting him intrude. "I won't take the sun for granted for a good long while. Come on. Let's play some ball."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby had been bluffing his skills. He couldn't shoot for shit, but he wasn't afraid to put his body in the mix. He was faster and way more solid than Elliot had given him credit for, and when he held his ground he was immovable. Instead of the easy knockabout Elliot had expected when they made their way onto the court, in ten minutes the gloves were off and they'd gone full contact, throwing their weight and the occasional elbow into each other, the pair of them panting and wiping the sweat out of their eyes, grinning like schoolboys.

And then they went at it again, racing the ball around the half-court until they were both bent over, hands on their knees, chasing their breath.

"You done?"

"Not even close." Elliot bounced the ball to Toby and chased him, darted in front when Toby feinted but Toby ducked under Elliot's arm and jumped. His shot glanced off the hoop and Elliot went for it and Toby knocked him flat to the ground.

"Shit, are you okay?" He reached down and they locked hands, Toby hauling Elliot to his feet like he weighed half what he did, hand holding on until Elliot was well and truly steady.

Elliot took his hand back and brushed the gravel off his palms. "Not a lot of men have put me on my ass."

Toby ducked his head. "Games in the prison gym weren't exactly strictly refereed. Seriously, are you okay?"

Elliot waved him off. "Plenty have tried." He caught the ball Toby threw.

"I'm pretty sure that counted as a foul."

The game resumed, past exhaustion until they were both fumbling the ball and missing shots, bodies aching, drunk on the game. Elliot hadn't had this much fun in ages. Toby was laughing, right in Elliot's face, smile wide and eyes wrinkling as he pushed forward, chest pressed to Elliot's chest. Elliot thought about kissing him.

Toby's eyes dropped to Elliot's mouth and Elliot realised he had his lip caught in his teeth.

He let go of his lip and took a step back, lifted his tank top to wipe the sweat from his face. When he put it back down, Toby was three feet further away and lifting his t-shirt to do the same, and Elliot got an eyeful of glistening abs.

Elliot had to swallow a couple of times to get the moisture back in his mouth. What the hell just happened?

He swung the ball out of Toby's reach and turned, took a shot and missed, even though Toby hadn't moved. Toby wandered over and then they were back on it, but not as physical as before, not laughing quite as easily.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They climbed the stairs, still breathing too hard to talk. Thank god. Toby was too keyed up to speak. He led the way straight to the kitchen. "You want ice?"

"Nah."

Toby filled a glass from the tap and pushed it towards Elliot, filled a second and drank, swallowing gratefully until he reached the bottom and then wiping an arm across his mouth. Prison manners: his mother would be appalled.

Elliot looked a little appalled. That was good. Chris never looked appalled by anything. Toby really, really needed them to be different men right now. He needed Elliot to put on a shirt and a tie, cover that tattoo, stop sweating, start talking about justice or his kids. Or it would be fine with Toby if he said, "Surprise, it's me, Tobe," and started tearing off Toby's clothes.

Toby faced the counter to hide the tent pole in his shorts. "Sorry. Next time I'll think to grab a couple of bottles to take down there."

"Yeah." Elliot looked away.

It wasn't Toby's manners putting Elliot off. It was what happened on the court.

The game had run out of steam the moment Toby froze, caught in Chris's gaze. Elliot had seen Toby's eyes fall, and he'd known what Toby was thinking. Toby stared down into the sink, fighting the urge to explain, apologise. The best thing was probably to just pretend it never happened, like Elliot did.

Even now this was too much Chris Keller, filling Toby's kitchen, sweat-drenched tank clinging to that moulded chest. That tattoo, like the punchline on a terrible cosmic joke.

Down on the court, Elliot had thrown himself into game - thrown himself into Toby. All Elliot's reserve had washed away and Toby's world was filled with Chris's scent, his skin and sweat and burning blue eyes, that powerful body let loose. The solid wall of chest and the bulging arms and the competitive grin like a shot of heroin straight to the vein. That was how you fucked with the lights on in Oz; you wrestled or played ball with your whole body against his until the guards called you off for count, and then you got drunk on the anticipation through the final hours until the lights went off and you could wrestle him to the bed and suck down his cock.

Elliot was drinking, eyes closed, head tipped back, long throat bobbing. His skin glistened, sparse dark hair clinging in the scoop of his top. Toby needed Elliot to put more clothes on before he did something stupid. If he just let his knees give way... What guy didn't want his cock sucked? Toby could blow Elliot so good he wouldn't move an inch until he was done. And then Toby would never see Elliot again.

"Do you want to get a shower? I doubt I've got any pants that would fit you, but I'm sure I can dig out a t-shirt."

Panic flashed through Elliot's eyes. "Nah. I'll just head home to get cleaned up. Guess I should have thought it through and brought more than the ball."

"Next time. That was fun. I haven't worked out like that in a long time. I'm going to feel it tomorrow."

Elliot gave him a nod and headed out, and Toby sagged against the counter, wondering if that sounded half as unnatural as it felt. He downed another half a glass of water. He'd been doing so much better lately. Elliot was just Elliot. Not a ghost or a thief. Maybe Toby still sometimes caught his breath at a familiar brooding glare or satisfied smirk, but those were just moments.

Today... it was a miracle Elliot hadn't noticed his hard-on earlier.

He went to the bathroom and threw the water to scalding, dumped his sweaty clothes on the floor and climbed in, let the water burn. Seeing that tattoo stretch down Elliot's bicep had sent him spinning back to that cramped, stifling cell, the week-old stench of sweat and sex and the only peace he felt in eight years. He wanted Chris. He missed Chris. So fucking much. Toby's breath caught sideways in his throat. To have him here Toby would have forgiven anything, everything all over again, would have got on his knees with his face in Chris's crotch and begged forgiveness for every day he'd ever turned his back on him, would have begged Chris to fuck him and own him, to grope him in front of the other prisoners, to kill whomever pleased him, whatever he needed to know that Toby was his.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot was rattled.

He sat in his car and stared at the basketball he'd dumped on the passenger seat. What the hell just happened?

Elliot didn't want Toby. That was absurd. No urge whatsoever to stick his hands down Toby's pants. He just liked hanging with the guy. Loved playing basketball with him. He liked the unselfconscious way Toby touched his back to guide or congratulate him, and Elliot had been trying to be a little more open like that himself. He liked touching Toby. He'd wanted to touch his chest today when they were playing, find out if it was as firm as it looked. Elliot wanted to trace his collar bone.

He'd wanted to kiss him.

God, he really did.

Elliot rubbed his hands through his hair. No way. This was ridiculous. He imagined pulling Toby close and planting one on him, waited for the revulsion to come but instead heat spread through his gut like whiskey.

So he didn't want to know anything about Toby's cock but he did get a stirring when he thought about touching the guy's skin? Maybe Kathy hadn't been so far off about those confused hormones.

Elliot still loved Kathy. He still thought of her when he jerked off, still thought, maybe one day they could fix things...

No. No damned way. Is this what happened when you didn't get laid in a long time? It had been a long, long time since he and Kathy slept together, and he'd never even tried to find someone else. The paperwork was done and he had every right to go looking, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to go trawling through awkward first dates, or worse, hook up with some stranger for a one night stand. He wasn't that guy.

He wanted Kathy. He wanted to touch her breasts, bury his face between her thighs, rub her scent into his skin and make her gasp. He wanted to hold her afterwards, feel her head against his chest.

He wondered how it would feel to hold Toby.

This is what divorce did to you. It screwed everything up, made you crazy. Elliot hadn't hugged anyone but his kids since... God. It had been eighteen months. Maybe two years. Maybe this wasn't such a mystery. Toby was good company and maybe with him being gay Elliot was less... he didn't know. Less something. He hoped Toby hadn't picked up on it.

Sure: no way gay, perceptive Toby would pick up on Elliot eyeing him up.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been days since Toby saw or heard from Elliot. Hardly a surprise. Elliot had probably moved to Nebraska.

But Toby's body didn't believe it. The primal ache Chris had stirred was awake again, craving, and it wouldn't be persuaded that Elliot wasn't the drug it needed.

That one frozen moment had left Toby awash in memory for days. He'd jerked off until his cock was raw, worked his fingers in his own ass, replaying one fuck after another. He remembered every single time, but there was one he kept coming back to.

After two weeks of lockdown they'd definitely passed the honeymoon phase. They were snapping and sniping, and that first step out of the pod had been like breathing freedom.

Eating in the dining hall, chatting with Sister Pete and Said and even Busmalis and Rebadow had been a relief, but by lunchtime he was already missing Chris, head filled with random thoughts and stupid observations that he was used to dropping from his mind to Chris's ear, cock starved for attention, heart pounding with fear that Chris would find something or someone else to capture his interest now they were loose.

The fear was extinguished when Chris dropped his lunch tray of cheese sandwich and room-temperature milk across from Toby's and stared at him with the very same look he always had when Toby was about to sink inside him.

Toby had pressed his foot to Chris's under the table, and they'd smiled.

And that night. That night they came together like starving men, Chris begging Toby to fuck him, to fuck him harder, to stay inside him always.

It had tipped Toby's world on its side, discovering how much Chris loved being fucked up the ass. From their first night, the first time Chris rolled on his belly and demanded Toby get inside him, Toby had to re-imagine his whole idea of Chris. And of getting fucked up the ass. Chris never pressed to fuck Toby until Toby shyly suggested it. Toby had assumed Chris was bottoming to get Toby used to the idea, until Chris showed him just how different it was when the guy fucking you was doing it for your pleasure.

Toby's cock wanted Elliot to roll on his belly, to beg for it. Toby's cock wanted Elliot to stop pretending to be the buttoned-down cop and show his balls. Down on the court he'd finally found that piece of Chris he'd been hungering for since Elliot stepped out of the car outside Franco's, and Toby wanted to tear the rest away.


	10. Art class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 9:  
> Elliot decided they should play some basketball. The game was rough and sweaty and, um, surprising. Elliot was rattled - he couldn't deny the attraction, but he was working on some rationalisations. Toby's hunger for Chris was reawakened, sharper than before.

Elliot rubbed his eyes and refocused on the wet road. Eight hours of pounding pavements all over Midtown in the drizzling rain followed by six of digging through photos and files had left him cross-eyed, and he probably should have slept in the crib. But he was almost home now, and he was going to be damned grateful when he fell into his own bed - as long as the steady scrape of the wipers didn't put him to sleep on the way. His jaw broke open on a yawn, and the screech of the phone made him jump.

He had a good idea who it was but he checked anyway. Toby again. Elliot let it ring.

It had been a week since the basketball game, and he hadn't spoken to Toby. Until an hour ago, and again half an hour ago, Toby hadn't called him either.

Ring. Ring. Echoing through the car.

Every time he thought of that game, something whispered through him, and every time a cold prickle followed.

They needed to get back to normal but Elliot was half-asleep at the wheel and he wasn't going to deal with it tonight. He'd call Toby tomorrow. It rang off and Elliot sighed at the sudden quiet, just the hiss of tyres and the rub-rub of the wipers and the fight to keep his eyes open. He should have crashed in the crib.

The phone chirped, and he gritted his teeth. With a silent apology to the traffic gods he checked the text.

'Sorry. Please come over.'

Something was wrong. An exit for Brooklyn rolled up, but Elliot shook his head and kept driving towards home. He couldn't deal with Toby tonight.

It put a lie to Elliot telling himself nothing happened on the court. Or that whatever it was that happened didn't mean anything. Elliot hadn't had time to call Toby because he'd been buried, ploughing through the backlog of paperwork until Cragen asked if everything was all right at home. Maybe Cragen had forgotten that he didn't need to work extra hours to avoid Kathy and the kids anymore. Elliot thought he'd kept his mood to himself but Finn wasn't talking to him again, so maybe not.

It was five minutes to home, forty to Toby's, and Elliot was exhausted. He wanted to fall in bed and sleep for a week; he had five hours. Another exit loomed.

'Sorry. Please come over.' That message, this late: Toby wouldn't have sent that unless it was bad.

Toby had been there for him after more than one bad day. If what happened at basketball was nothing, Elliot shouldn't have hesitated to give it back. 

Of course it was nothing. Elliot rubbed his aching eyes and took the next exit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the time Elliot got to Park Slope, he'd forgotten the trivial shit and was wide awake worrying what had Toby so upset. More worried when Toby didn't answer his knock. It was too late for pounding on the door so he checked the handle. It was unlocked. Elliot tensed, flicked the tab off his gun but left it holstered as he stepped into the dark apartment. What the fuck was going on?

"Toby?" Nothing seemed out of place.

A heavy breath caught his ear, and he turned to see Toby sitting curled against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. Even in the near-dark, Elliot could see him shake his head, face crumpling.

Elliot came in slowly. Feeling like a cop but he didn't know how else to approach this. Rape flashback? He slid down the wall to sit an arm's length away, and forced himself to wait. He didn't need evidence. There was no perp to chase. Just Toby, who Elliot had been blowing off because he was an idiot. What had been done to him?

Toby looked up and choked on another sob, and Elliot couldn't hang on any longer. "What's happened?"

Toby sucked down a breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve, careful to be quiet. Holly must be home. "We never told her."

"Who?"

Toby tipped back his head, throat pale in the light coming through the window from the street, eyes red. This wasn't the man Elliot knew at all. "When they finally got her talking. She told them Hank took Gary away. Nobody, nobody was supposed to tell her what Hank did to him."

"Somebody told her?" Rape, Elliot's gut was screaming. Toby's little boy was raped. That fucker raped Gary before he killed him and Holly watched.

Toby shook his head, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. "Holly's art teacher called me in today. She's had this for a week; she didn't know what it meant."

Elliot finally noticed the crushed paper in Toby's hand. He took it easily and spread it out, smoothing it against the floor. 

It was a hand drawn in black ink, the proportions a little wobbly but not bad for an eleven-year old, until you reached the jagged flesh of the severed wrist, a hint of bone and tendon. Sweet, polite Holly drew this?

Sweet, polite, lone survivor of a kidnap. Elliot finally put the pieces together. This was what the kidnapper did to Toby's eight year-old son. He cut off Gary's hand. And now they knew he did it in front of Holly. Vomit burned deep in his throat, and he had to fight the urge to crash into Holly's room and pull her into his arms. He couldn't imagine how Toby was keeping his ass in here. But Elliot was done being a cop. He reached for Toby and pulled him close, Toby's muffled animal moan carving into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Toby. I'm sorry."

Toby's fingers were digging into his ribs but Elliot only held him tighter, wondering what would be left of his own sanity if this was Lizzie or Kathleen, if that was their picture of Dickie's hand. He always fought so fucking hard to separate his job from his own kids, as much as anyone could, but this wasn't his job, and Toby wasn't someone he could separate.

Toby shuddered in his arms, pushing his quiet crying into Elliot's shirt so he wouldn't wake Holly, who was sleeping behind the hollow door across the room. Elliot held him, his own throat burning, letting Toby drench his shirt until his breathing slowed, and Toby turned his head to speak. "I'm sorry I called you. I didn't know who else-"

"I'm glad you did." Elliot put a hand behind his head, to let him know it was okay to stay where he was. "Is it possible someone told her? Or she overheard?"

Toby reached a finger to trace along that brutal line just below the wrist. "That's exactly where he was cut. Hank Schillinger cut off my baby's hand and he mailed it to me in prison. That's when I knew Gary was dead. It was another ten days before he let Holly go."

Toby got his eight year-old son's severed hand in the mail.

Christ. Elliot stared at Toby's bent head, stroked Toby's hair as his eyes were pulled back to that stark illustration.

Holly had spent ten days alone with the monster who'd cut it off in front of her.

Poor fucking Holly.

And then that monster got off on a technicality.

And then the mob killed him. How many mob guys were serving in Oz?

Elliot's hands tightened, and he was glad that the lights were down as he said this. "Listen, Toby. You can't tell me if you ordered the hit on Hank. You mustn't ever tell me. But if you did, I want you to know I'm fucking glad you did. I want you to know I wouldn't think one bit less of you for it."

Toby didn't say anything, and it was a long wait for Elliot's next breath.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia cocked an eyebrow when she breezed in, dropping her umbrella by her desk. "Didn't expect you to beat me in today."

"Wasn't my plan." He'd ducked out in the early hours before Holly woke, drove through the pouring rain back to Midtown to get a nap in the crib and now he was clutching his super-sized triple-shot coffee for all it was worth.

"I can see that night of sleep did you a world of good."

"Sleep?"

It had been an hour in the crib, but not much of it was sleep. He kept replaying how it felt to have Toby in his arms, solid and warm, clinging to his chest. Under all the impotent protective rage, Elliot couldn't ignore how glad he was to be the one that Toby called. He'd liked that Toby turned to him. He'd liked holding Toby. They'd sat for an hour at least, with Elliot's face pressed into Toby's soft hair, fingers stroking his broad back. And he'd liked it. Just like he used to like holding Kathy, being strong for her when she needed him.

Olivia swung her jacket over the chair and sat, looking like a woman who got her full eight hours. "Your neighbours disturbing the peace again? Maybe you should offer to put some padding behind their bed."

Elliot took a long pull from his coffee. Second today. "Didn't go home. I called Warner, she said the best she can give us is a partial DNA for the Diaz case."

"Partial DNA's a start. You didn't go home?"

"Don't give me that look. A friend had a bad night, so I crashed on his couch."

She put down the papers she'd just picked up. "Tobias Beecher?"

"Yeah, how'd you-"

"Elliot, Liv, we've got a pair of bodies off Sutton Place."

They were on their feet, catching up their jackets before Cragen finished his sentence. "On our way."

Olivia looked at him sideways as they stepped into the elevator. "How many friends do you have?"

"More than one." Only one he spoke to every second day, except for when he was being an ass and didn't call him for a week.

Elliot wanted to tell her, and he didn't. He didn't know how to start, and if he did, he knew he'd explain it wrong. But she was one of the few people who might know what to say, so as she pulled the car into the rain, he said, "You remember his daughter was kidnapped?"

"I remember." She flicked the wipers to a higher setting. It was going to be hell working a scene in this.

"He had a son, as well."

He felt her sideways glance. "He didn't make it?"

"The bastard mailed the kid's hand to Toby in prison." And then held Holly for another ten days.

She gave him a long look, eyes wide. "Proof of life?"

"Spite."

"Hell." She changed lanes, passed a taxi. "What was his beef with Toby?"

"I don't know." He'd never thought to ask.

"They catch the guy?"

"Yeah." Elliot left it at that. In the daylight, in the real world, the idea of Toby ordering a hit with the mafia seemed absurd, but he still didn't want Olivia even thinking about it.

They stopped at a set of lights and Liv glanced over with that thoughtful look that said she was making up her mind about something he probably didn't think was any of her business.

"What?"

She hesitated long enough for him to be sure he was right. "Nothing."

"You don't approve of me being friends with him because he was a witness, an ex-con, or because he's gay?"

"Don't be an idiot, El. I don't disapprove. It's just... I couldn't figure it out before, but it's starting to make sense."

Elliot tried not to get defensive, but he realised his arms were folded, and he was failing. "This ought to be good."

Olivia ploughed on anyway. "I think you've seen a lot of victims, and maybe you've found one that you can attach to."

"That's your diagnosis? I've decided to rescue him, on behalf of every case we've worked?"

She sighed. "You invest yourself in your victims. It's what makes you so good at this job. And finally here's a guy with all the scars, but you don't owe it to him to solve his case."

"That's not how it is."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. There was something going on before I even knew about that other stuff, some kind of connection from that very first meeting."

There was just a half-second's pause, long enough for Elliot to feel the gap and rewind what he'd just said, and realise there was no way in hell to take it back.

"Attraction?"

Shit.

He twisted in his seat to face her, ready to take it head-on but she raised a hand to stop him, eyes fierce as she negotiated her way through the traffic.

It hadn't been the first interview, really. It was the second, when he saw Toby with Holly, that Elliot had looked closer and noticed there was more to Toby than a skel.

Olivia drove another half-block before swinging the car into a loading zone and giving him her full attention.

"Crime scene, Liv."

"They're already dead. They can wait an extra two minutes." They stared at each other, until Olivia threw up her hands. "Would it really kill you to talk to me?"

"Might."

"Do it anyway." She said it gently, and it made his throat burn.

Elliot slouched back in his seat. Rain pattered on the roof and trickled down the windows, blocking out the city. It was just the two of them, and the car wasn't going another foot until he gave her something. "It's not... I don't know what it is. There's some kind of... connection. I don't know a better word for it." He wasn't going to call it a crush. Or that word she just used. It wasn't like that.

"So does that mean the two of you are..."

"No!" He'd admitted to a little confusion, and she had them shacking up together? "It's not like that." There were just certain things that guys didn't feel for other guys. Protectiveness. Tenderness. A particular kind of buzz at hanging out. Elliot could feel all that stuff for Liv, and never doubt it was all platonic. "He's just... I like hanging out with the guy, all right? I can talk to him, better than I've been able to talk to anyone in a long time." Since Kathy.

Elliot hadn't ever thought about kissing Olivia the way he'd thought about Toby on that basketball court. He'd tried not to think about that since, but sometimes...

She took her time digesting that. "Does he have feelings for you?"

"I don't know."

Her look called him a liar, even if she wouldn't dare say it. Of course he knew. He knew every time Toby's gaze lingered. "So are you going to figure it out?"

"There's nothing to figure out. We're friends."

She considered that for a while, and the little part of him that wasn't burning with humiliation for everything he'd just admitted was sitting up and begging for her to spout some Yoda-like wisdom. "Elliot... How hard are you going to kick yourself if you let this all just slide by?"

No one knew him like Olivia did. Elliot turned to face the front.

She finally threw the indicator on and pulled back into the street. "I gotta tell you, Elliot. I didn't see this one coming."

"You can't be more shocked than me."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

She smiled and shook her head, and Elliot wished he could tell her how much it meant that she had his back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two bodies, partially undressed, around twenty. Probably college students, shot while making out in Mom's Mercedes under the Queensboro Bridge. Wallets and jewellery were gone; robbery seemed likely. It should have been a Homicide case, but Elliot was grateful he wasn't going to be looking at the bodies of little kids today. He kept flashing on the image of Holly with a stump for a hand, and wondering how Toby kept himself together.

He couldn't believe he'd told Olivia all that stuff. He hardly believed it himself, and now it was out there. Real. Elliot kept checking to see if Olivia was staring but she was focused as always, talking with the jogger who'd stumbled across the scene. Jogging at eight am in the pouring rain - freak.

It had slowed to a light drizzle now. The forensics from outside the car were long gone, but at least he wasn't going to be cold and wet on top of exhausted and confused.

'So are you going to figure it out?' Olivia had asked, as if that was something you did. Just turn into someone else sometime in your late thirties.

Was Elliot in turmoil because Toby was a victim? The thing was, most of the time he wasn't. Most of the time, he was Toby: funny and self-deprecating and understanding, driven by love for his family and a load of guilt and the weight of fixing his mistakes. He'd come to terms with the shit in his life in a way that awed Elliot, a little. There'd been no room for pity until last night.

Last night. 

Toby had clutched at him, fingers digging into Elliot's shoulder and ribs, face pressed to Elliot's chest, hair tickling his throat. Elliot held him until his arms ached and then went numb, Toby slowly fading to dead weight as his breathing slowed and steadied.

Elliot had wondered if there was more going on than that godawful picture, still lying open in view. Maybe it was years of fear and guilt and anger let loose. Maybe Toby had no one else to lean on but his eleven year-old daughter.

Beneath all the grief, Elliot had felt good holding Toby. He wanted to talk to Toby about it, not Olivia. He wanted Toby to make him understand what was going on, to explain it all away in that practical, matter-of-fact way he had. Toby could tell him it was just the way divorce screwed you up, made you crave to be close with someone, that Elliot's situation was different from Toby's. Elliot was a man with choices, women everywhere, and he'd get past this confusion.

He'd held Toby for over an hour before gently getting him to his feet and persuading him towards bed. Elliot had considered sitting by him, but by then Toby was more asleep than awake, so Elliot crashed on the couch just to be sure there were no nightmares.

Holly never made a peep.

O'Halloran caught Elliot's eye and signalled him around to the other side of the car with Liv, talked them through blood patterns and trajectories. Female vic first, shot through the shoulder from around a foot away, and then point blank to the front of the head. The male through the back from behind as he tried to exit the car. Warner concurred, pointing to bruising that indicated the gun was pushed to the woman's head before the second shot. She put the time of death between two and four am.

Olivia flipped her notes shut. "Car's registered to a Bao Pham in the apartment around the corner. Time to inform their families."

Elliot checked his watch. Just past nine-thirty. "Mind if I make a call, first?" She waved him off and he found a dry spot overlooking the river.

Toby picked up after a couple of rings. "Hello?"

"Hey. I'm sorry to bother you at work. I just wanted to see if you're okay."

"God, Elliot, I'm sorry about last night." He sounded exhausted. 

"What are you sorry for?"

"Dragging you over in the middle of the night. Bawling like an idiot. Passing out. I don't even remember you leaving."

"Toby..." Elliot didn't know how to explain how much he didn't need an apology. "Toby, I'm glad you called me. You can call me anytime."

"With all the shit you deal with at work, all the people who lean on you, you don't need me-"

"I called to find out how you're doing." It didn't seem like he was going to win an argument about last night, so Elliot pushed right past it.

"I'm fine. You're at work, you shouldn't-"

"Yes, I'm at work, so I don't have time to harangue you into looking after yourself." Elliot checked; Olivia was waiting by the car, scribbling in her notebook. He wished he could dump all this and drive straight to Toby's office in Brooklyn, make him understand how much Elliot wanted Toby to let him help. "Can I come over tonight?"

"Seriously, Elliot, I'm okay."

"It's not just about last night."

"I'm going to spend some time with Holly tonight."

Olivia was watching Elliot now, trying not to look impatient. Elliot couldn't argue with Toby spending time with Holly. He flashed on that drawing, and shuddered. "All right. I'll call you tomorrow. Take care."

"Sure."

Toby didn't get it. Elliot wasn't just trying to be nice. He wanted to see Toby was okay with his own eyes, and shoot the breeze over pasta. He wanted... He didn't know what the fuck he wanted.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby dropped the phone back on the bedside table and rubbed his hands over his gummy face, pressed fingers against his aching temples. He'd slept in his contacts, and it felt like there was sandpaper in his eyes. He felt like he was coming down from the hit he'd been craving so hard yesterday. If Elliot had any idea what was going through Toby's head last night, he wouldn't have been so willing to stay. The basketball game had been bad enough, but last night... a man like Elliot Stabler would never hold Toby half the night, but Chris would.

How many times had Toby buried his face in Chris's broad chest in a shadowed corner of their pod? Arms strong enough and dangerous enough to fight off all the monsters, nothing better to do with the passing hours than hold Toby, stroke his hair, whisper comforting nonsense?

Holly's gruesome picture had shoved him straight back to Oz, angry and helpless as everything he loved went to shit, but then Chris was alive, the scent and strength of him bolder than any dream, getting Toby through one more miserable night.

Toby didn't want to see Elliot tonight. He hadn't wanted Elliot to call. He wanted to believe that Christopher Keller had manifested to be with him, a promise that he was watching over him, waiting for Toby until they could storm heaven together. That was what got Toby out of bed this morning, helped him force a smile on his face as he woke Holly and pretended his heart hadn't broken for her all over again while he made her breakfast and packed her off to school.

As soon as the door closed behind her he'd called in sick to work and collapsed back in bed, grasping for memories of dreams, but Chris wouldn't hold him, wasn't snoring in the bunk below, wasn't anywhere. Chris was dead, and Toby didn't need Elliot reminding him that he'd never been there in the first place.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby woke to the wail of sirens hurtling down Union Street, his sluggish brain struggling to understand why things felt off. The room was too bright, his head was stuffy... It was midday. He'd spent the night crying on Chris's shoulder, and this morning he'd gone back to bed in a ball of exhaustion and self-pity. Not Chris's shoulder - Elliot's. Jesus.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, put drops in his sandy eyes and stumbled into the shower, let the water wash away the mud of oversleeping. He felt almost human as he picked up his towel to dry off. Human enough to hope Elliot didn't mind what a jerk he'd been on the phone this morning. Toby didn't remember what he'd said, but he was sure he hadn't done much of a job hiding his resentment.

Towel around his waist, Toby headed to the kitchen and threw a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster. The suffocating pressure of Chris Keller had faded, and with a few hours of decent sleep, Toby was realising how generous Elliot had been to baby sit him. It was one thing for a lover to hold you through the night. He didn't know a lot of straight guys who would have done it, and yet this morning Toby had just resented him for not being Chris. He was going to fix that. 

First, though, he had to figure out what to do about Holly. His stomach clenched. His little girl had watched Hank fucking Schillinger hack his little boy's hand off. She'd probably watched Hank murder Gary. And then she spent eleven days not knowing if it was going to happen to her, and all the years since keeping that horror to herself. Toby wanted to murder that son of a bitch all over again. A memory drifted by, of Elliot telling Toby it was okay to put that hit out on Hank. Or maybe that was just Chris muddled in.

He'd told Elliot once that it was easier to die for your kids than to live for them, and deal with everything you'd inflicted. And here it was, exhibit A. Back in his first days out of Oz, he'd hovered and fretted, four years too late but trying to fix things, badgering the therapist about how Holly was doing. Ling had eventually sat Toby down and told him Holly had made remarkable progress, that if there was more to deal with then Holly would let it out in her own time. So was that picture a way for Holly to work herself through her fears, or had she been waiting for the teacher to pass it along?

As he sat at the table, munching on toast and jelly that turned to prison food in his mouth, he realised he'd done the right thing calling in sick. Even if it had just been self-pity at the time, Toby never would have been in a decent state to deal with Holly tonight if he'd suffered through a day in the office. He didn't know if he was going to be in any state to do it even now.


	11. Vertigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 10:  
> Elliot spent the week after their basketball game in classic Stabler avoidance-mode, but a plaintive text from Toby dragged him reluctantly back to Brooklyn. There he found Toby shattered by Holly's latest drawing, and the realisation that she'd seen the worst of what Hank did to Gary. Elliot was horrified as well, but he was also glad to be the one to hold Toby. He confided a little bit in Olivia, so she pulled the car over and dragged way too much out of him. Elliot's comforting arms awakened a whole new kind of roaring need in Toby.

Elliot twisted to see the clock; another ten minutes before his alarm was due to go off. Hardly worth fighting to get back to sleep... but plenty of time to take care of his half-hard dick. He wrapped a hand around it, flipped through his mental list of fantasies and went with his old favourite of watching Kathy sleep as he inched the covers down. Exposing her old cotton nightie - not something the kids would have called sexy, but Elliot knew how soft it was against Kathy's skin, knew when he reached the bottom and worked up the hem, he'd find her naked. And she slept deeply enough that if he was slow and gentle, she wouldn't stir until he tickled her clit with his thumb, blew a hot breath through her curling hair. Even then just a sleepy wriggle, his name murmured on a breath. He stroked himself as he brought back the smell, all that soft skin. He'd loved waking her up this way, getting her hot and wet before she was fully awake. He'd managed to sneak into her dreams a couple of times, waking her up with an orgasm.

A man shouldn't be ashamed of loving to go down on his wife, Toby had said. No, Elliot wasn't ashamed of that. He'd felt damned good about how hard he could make Kathy come, back before he let everything else get in the way. Here he was, still getting off thinking about her thighs against his cheeks, those crisp curls under his lips, burying his nose to fill his lungs with her scent.

It sounded like Toby had loved going down on his wife. That dark-haired woman in the photo on his shelf. Elliot wondered if she'd sprawled back on the bed, making soft pleading sounds as Toby kissed her breasts like Kathy had pleaded for Elliot.

Elliot imagined Toby working his way down, breathing her in, letting his long fingers play in her folds before he threw her legs over his broad shoulders and buried his face in her, one hand spreading her open, one hand working his cock.

Elliot was picturing his friend going down on his wife. It seemed terribly wrong but he couldn't let go now, thrusting into his hand as he pictured Toby's long back wrapped between a woman's thighs, his ass in the air, bicep flexing as he jerked off until his balls drew up tight, stomach flexing as his cock pulsed and spilled.

Elliot let go, tipping his head back and breathing hard. He hadn't come that hard in a while. He hadn't ever jerked off to something like that, violating Toby's privacy by picturing him with his dead wife.

He'd been picturing Toby, more than his wife.

This was crazy.

Elliot sat up and grabbed a tissue to wipe himself off. You didn't suddenly start checking out guys after twenty years of solid, heterosexual marriage. Elliot had seen plenty of closet cases who played the dutiful husband then worked the clubs and tea rooms behind their wives' backs, but that was something else, men who had no business marrying in the first place.

Toby claimed he was straight before prison, but Elliot didn't buy it. What was it Toby said? Maybe prison stripped away all the assumptions about who you were? Loving Kathy wasn't an assumption. It was who Elliot was. He'd never ogled a guy in his life, and whatever was going on with Toby was just confusion and loneliness and fuck knew what else. He could accept... however it was that he described it to Olivia the other day. A connection. He was secure enough to hold his grieving friend through the night, but he didn't accept jerking off to a mental picture of Toby's ass. That wasn't who Elliot was.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby nibbled on a bread roll and nursed his soda, and tried to tune out the baseball arguments at the next table and the laughing gossip behind him. He didn't check his watch. Elliot had warned him he was going to be late, and he'd sounded a special kind of exhausted. Toby was pretty sure he'd recognised the sterile sounds of a hospital in the background. He'd thought Elliot was going to cancel, even told him it was okay if he did, but for some reason Elliot was willing to follow up a miserable day at work with a dose of Toby's current problems, jammed in a busy restaurant.

Obviously Elliot didn't realise Toby had been craving his touch like heroin. Waiting for Elliot to magically turn into Chris Keller and fix everything.

Elliot was making his way between crowded tables looking like he'd been trampled over. Toby stood.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late." He put a hand on Toby's back and it was electric, and for a second Toby thought Elliot was going to hug him, enfold him in all that strength, but it was just that hand lingering as Elliot asked how he was doing.

"I'm all right." Toby sat to escape, and waited for Elliot to drop into his chair. "Are you all right?"

His lips twisted, like he was biting back sarcasm. "Do you mind if I get a beer?"

"Of course not."

Elliot looked around, didn't find a waiter so he turned back to Toby, still fidgeting in his seat. "Have you talked to Holly?"

"I tried."

The waiter stopped, whipping out his pad. "Sir, can I get you a drink? Or are you ready to order?"

"What do you have on tap?"

He reeled off the list, speaking up to be heard over the clatter of forks on plates and chattering diners. It was loud and crowded in here, and Toby didn't want to shout to hash out his week, and he was pretty sure Elliot didn't either. He reached and covered his hand, any flimsy excuse for a touch. Toby knew the shape of those fingers. "I've got a better idea. Let's get take out, and go back to my place. We can pick up a bottle of whatever you want from the place on the corner."

Elliot looked at him, picked up a menu, ran his eyes halfway down and said, "Can I get a chicken parm to go?"

"You have a choice of-"

"Pasta and the mixed vegetables."

Toby nudged his own menu away. "I'll get the salmon, whipped potato and the Greek salad."

The waiter scrawled it down. "Done. I'll have it boxed for you."

They didn't bother to talk as they waited, and as soon as dinner arrived they were out of there. Elliot drove them to Toby's. Quiet all the way, Elliot seething on whatever had happened at work, Toby lost in fantasies of Elliot pulling the car over and calling him 'Tobe' and blowing him right here.

Toby waited outside while Elliot headed into the package store, and wondered how many beers it would take to turn Elliot into Chris. He came out with two - not nearly enough - and Toby led the way upstairs. "Just take the bottles with you, okay? I don't want Holly or my mother finding them and thinking I've fallen off the wagon."

"Sure."

As soon as they were through the door, Elliot started to shrug off his jacket and stopped with a muttered curse. He turned sad eyes on Toby. "I'm wearing my gun. Do you mind if I...?"

"Of course not."

So that was why Elliot usually left his jacket on. He slid it off now with a happy sigh, draping it over a chair and rolling his shoulders. He probably would have liked to have stripped his holster off, too, but that wasn't something a cop could do in a felon's house. Toby squashed the urge to apologise for that. He'd noticed the extra bulk at Elliot's ankle, too. Elliot's job was the kind that needed two guns.

Chris had carried a gun, but he'd used it to hold up a store, and murder the clerk. What did it say about Toby, that he'd been longing for Chris instead?

Elliot collapsed on the couch. "This beats the hell out of a restaurant."

Toby grabbed plates and silverware and brought it all out to the coffee table so they could eat with their feet up. He needed to get Elliot talking to keep himself focussed on which man this was, and Elliot wasn't going to talk about his day unless Toby nudged him the right way. "Were you at the hospital?"

"Medical examiner's office." He cracked his beer and started serving out food.

"You have a new case?"

"We've just lost one." Short and sharp, no interest in talking about it.

Toby sat beside him, and started dishing up his own plate. 

"So you tried to talk to Holly?"

Of course Elliot would rather talk about Toby's problems. "You don't sound like you're in a mood to dredge through my week."

Elliot put down his fork, chewed and swallowed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to... You've had enough misery and horror in your life without hearing about my day."

"I could say the same of you. I'm still listening." He needed to listen, needed Elliot to be extra-Elliot-like.

Elliot's lips pressed in a straight line. "A victim committed suicide. She was due to testify next week. Now she's dead, and the bastard's going to walk. You don't need to hear the details."

Probably not. "You'd been working with her?"

"I told her it was going to be all right."

Toby almost asked if they couldn't make the case without her, then thought better of it. "How old was she?"

"Twenty-two." Elliot sat back, staring up at the ceiling. "Back when the investigation started, everyone who knew her talked about how friendly she was - bubbly, her co-workers said. And you could see it, even after what... She was a sweet kid, patient... She thanked us every time we spoke, even when we couldn't tell her a damn thing. He ripped up her life, but our case - us building the case - finished her off."

Softly, Toby asked, "Do you really think she would have been fine if it had all been dropped?"

"No." He shook his head, certain of that. "But we're supposed to be there for the victims. I should've been there for her."

Toby didn't know what to say. He doubted anything he said would help.

"Sometimes you don't even know what it is. The way they look at you, a comment that reminds you of Maureen at that age, a birthday in common, and suddenly it's personal. More personal than the rest. And you don't know how to untangle yourself even if you wanted to, and you don't want to because what kind of fucking person are you, if you listen to a woman describe how her boyfriend degraded her and you don't make it personal?" Elliot frowned, and then turned a quizzical look on Toby. 

Toby waited for him to ask something, but he just kept looking thoughtful. "Elliot?"

"How d'you do that?"

Toby wondered if he'd skipped a page. "Do what?"

"Get me to say things like that."

"I don't know what I did."

There was a strange intensity in Elliot's eyes. So much like Chris, but Toby fought the comparison. If he let all this wishful thinking loose, one day he'd just reach out and curl a hand behind Elliot's neck, play pretend until Elliot blackened his eye. Elliot looked away, and barely loud enough to hear, said, "I used to talk to Kathy like that."

Toby didn't know what Elliot wanted him to say. "If I knew the secret, I could get Holly to talk."

"She won't?"

"I try to give her openings, but I don't want to push her."

"You talk about Gary?"

"Of course." He'd always tried to make Gary a part of ordinary conversation, dropping light references to toddler mischief, the memories Toby had squandered to alcohol and prison. The other day he'd pulled out an old photo album and left it on the table as a casual inroad to talking about Gary, hoping he'd figure out from there how to ease into asking Holly the dreaded questions. "I remind her I'm here for her, but I can't just... 'Honey, tell me about the time that monster sawed off your brother's hand?'" His voice went hoarse, and his eyes closed. "I can't. Ling - her therapist - kept telling me there's no right way or wrong way, but I don't know what my own daughter needs from me, if I should be pressing her to unburden herself or giving her the choice to make her own decision. I feel so fucking helpless."

Elliot was right there, his broad hand covering Toby's. Toby caught his gasp. Chris would be more inclined to grip his wrist but it was close enough, and that look was so dead on that Toby had to make himself concentrate on Elliot's words. "I know something about this stuff, okay? You're doing fine. Better than fine. I've seen grown adults who've been through things like Holly who barely function at all."

And who was to say that one slip by Toby and Holly wouldn't be just like them? Wouldn't take the easy path, just like today's victim? "I wish someone could just tell me what to do." Chris would have. He might not have been right, but he would have been sure of himself. Toby craved that.

Elliot's hand held on. "It's my job to get all the information I can as fast as I can so I can protect them, and get some kind of justice. But there's a lot to be said for letting kids talk in their own time. You're doing fine, Toby."

Acid burned in Toby's throat. "We ended up talking about school instead. When she starts middle school in the Fall, she doesn't want anyone to know her history." Holly didn't like kids she barely knew looking at her like she was weird, and she didn't like teachers giving her special treatment, or the office lady who fussed over her and called her 'poor girl'.

"What are you going to do?"

"I couldn't see a way to say anything but yes."

Elliot looked unhappy, which meant he was probably hitting on all the same worries as Toby. "A kid who's been through something like Holly has..."

"It's important for the adults in her life to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't start picking up any of my bad habits. I know." Toby had turned to alcohol with far less reason. Toby would bet Elliot could quote statistics on how often kids who survived trauma turned to self-destructive behaviour, but he didn't want to hear it. "I suggested we give it a month or two, let her find a couple of teachers she likes, and we can confide in them."

"That seems fair."

"She just wants to live like a normal kid. That shouldn't be too much to ask."

Elliot squeezed his hands before he let go, and then there was a long quiet. Toby wondered if Elliot was thinking of his suicide victim, or Holly. Or comparing Holly to the thousands of victims he'd seen in his career. How did he deal with this shit, fresh every day?

Eventually Elliot rubbed his back and then stood and cleared their plates, oblivious to how his unconscious gesture burned a wave over Toby's skin. Toby longed to crawl into those arms, to see if Elliot would hold him again like the other night, just hold him, and let Toby pretend all over again. Maybe this time Elliot could let Toby peel away a few layers until he found that tattoo.

Toby listened to the clinking of silverware and the clank of the dishwasher closing. And then he was back, settling beside Toby. Closer this time. He rested his arm along the top of the couch, until he realised he was almost touching Toby's neck, then he pulled it away. So he hadn't completely forgotten that charged moment on the basketball court.

Toby wanted to tease for the moment of hetero awkwardness, but before he could, Elliot asked, "Tell me about Genevieve? If you don't mind."

That was out of nowhere. "What did you want to know?"

Elliot shrugged. There was something more going on here. "How did you meet?"

"Mutual friends. I was doing post-grad; she was a senior at BU. I'd just broken up with another girl, and Gen was cute so I asked her out to make my ex jealous."

Elliot smiled. "That doesn't sound romantic."

"My ex didn't care at all, but it turned out Gen was funny and smart and sexier than I'd realised. We loved the same books and movies, had the same plans for the future... Somehow neither of us thought to factor in eight years of hard time." Toby heaved a sigh, and gave Elliot a long look. "Why are all our conversations a series of ugly revelations about my life, while you're Mr Squeaky Clean family man?"

That got a sheepish look. "Kathy and I had a shotgun wedding. I knocked her up with Maureen at seventeen."

"Really?" After a moment, Toby slouched. "Even your dirt is honourable." Elliot made a mistake and he made it right, built a family out of it. 

Elliot shrugged. "I didn't know anything. I was crazy about her, but I would have grown up, made some money, got a place, done it right. Instead I was stupid and seventeen and facing her bear of a father." He grimaced. "You'd think we would have learned, but Kathleen was an accident, too. We were finally ready for a third - had our finances sorted, all that stuff, and we got twins."

"Genevieve and I had it all planned. Get married. Three years to settle in. Four kids, each a couple of years apart, all booked into good schools before they were born. I'd work my way up to partner, and Gen would go back to full time work when the youngest reached pre-school." He gave Elliot a rueful smile. "Planning isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Elliot smiled back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot rubbed his eyes. He hated driving this tired. He'd put off leaving Toby's as long as he could; maybe he should have put it off longer and crashed on his couch. Nothing eased him like talking to Toby. Maybe he'd sleep easier in Toby's space. The thought gave him a weird feeling and he couldn't decide if it was nerves or want.

He'd been waiting all night for Toby to call him out on all the extra touches, on the way he kept staring, but Toby let it slide, like so much else. He didn't know what it was about Toby's face that fascinated him. He wasn't pretty like Kathy. He didn't stir the same hormones but something was there. Something made Elliot wonder what would happen if Toby knew about Elliot's turmoil, if he'd talk him down or stir him up.

Down the last few streets and Elliot found a parking spot in front of his dark, empty apartment. Elliot didn't want to get naked with Toby. This wasn't about sex. He just wanted to be close to him. He wanted to always be able to talk to him, the way he did tonight. He wanted to stay longer. It would beat going upstairs to that miserable, lonely bedroom, and the places his mind had been wandering when he was alone.

Did his company mean as much to Toby? Maybe Toby had been checking his watch tonight, wondering when Elliot was going to shove off so he could go to bed. Maybe Toby had noticed Elliot staring at him, and had quietly been laughing at the confused straight guy.

Elliot swung himself out of the car, closed the door too hard for this time of night. That was ridiculous. Toby wasn't like that.

Toby watched him sometimes. More than sometimes. He'd felt Toby's gaze. If he was honest, what Toby wanted was a lot less of a mystery than what Elliot wanted himself.

Elliot didn't understand what was happening. He could handle the urge he'd had to pull Toby into his arms. Toby deserved comfort. But the way Elliot had wanted to hold him, the picture he'd had of nuzzling his face into Toby's neck... His lips had tingled. His cock had stirred. Not a lot, but enough to scare him. Elliot turned around, leaned back against his car. He looked up at the scattering of stars between the trees. Toby hadn't seen that in eight years. Elliot wanted to call him back, ask if he'd looked up, lately. It was a ridiculously thin excuse. Any excuse seemed good. He'd caught himself watching Toby's mouth tonight more than once, wondering what would happen if he leaned in. It had felt something like vertigo.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot and Olivia were driving up the Ocean Parkway, headed back to Manhattan. She had the wheel, Elliot had the files, but he was staring out the window. He'd felt Olivia's curious looks, but she knew him well enough to leave it alone. It was Saturday. Five days had passed since he held Toby while he cried, two since they took take-out back to Toby's and talked about everything but that, and Elliot didn't feel any closer to figuring out what was going on.

Stewing wasn't getting him anything but an ulcer. He knew what he needed to do: he had to talk to Toby. Problem was, that scared the shit out of him. Toby was great at talking, and even better at making Elliot talk, and Elliot was afraid of what might come out of his mouth. He was also afraid that he'd never gather the balls to find out.

Holly was at her grandmother's this weekend. That meant Toby was home alone. The Hamilton Avenue exit was coming up. Elliot just had to find his balls. "What time did Casey want us back?"

Olivia checked her watch. "Not until three. We've got a spare twenty minutes. Did you want to grab some lunch?"

Twenty minutes. Long enough to say something. Short enough for an escape route. "Can you take Exit 1?"

Olivia raised an eyebrow and changed lanes. "What's up?"

"I need to do something." Elliot clenched his hands in his lap as they headed off the expressway. "Next right, onto Smith."

He saw her expression shift as she realised what - whose - neighbourhood this was, and followed his last couple of directions.

He didn't give a damn what she thought. He had to talk to Toby, had to tell him... He still didn't know, but he'd figure it out, stumble through it when he saw him. If he put this off he'd chicken out.

Toby hadn't given him any clues about what he thought of Elliot's not-so-secret turmoil. Maybe that was what Elliot needed: just to know where Toby stood. Or for Toby to tell him there was nothing wrong with being confused.

Elliot released his belt as they pulled up. "I'll just be a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

He hoped she couldn't see the nervous energy driving him across the street and up the stairs to the building. He had less than two minutes to find the words to explain something he didn't understand in the hopes that Toby would know what to do, less than that once he reached for the buzzer but then he saw Toby through the glass, coming down the stairs. He was wearing dark jeans and a cosy grey pullover with the sleeves pushed up, keys in hand.

This was a stupid mistake, Elliot should have- and then Toby saw him and smiled, eyes sparkling, and this wasn't a mistake at all.

Toby pushed open the door. "Elliot, what are you-"

Elliot tugged him close and kissed him. Just a press of lips, right on the mouth, opening him up just a little to catch the sudden exhale. Toby's lips were warm and dry, and the crackle spread right through Elliot to his toes. He held it until Toby's hands came up to his shoulders, and then one curled behind his neck. Elliot felt a stupid, shy smile creep in, breaking the kiss. This wasn't a mistake. It felt like the best thing he'd done in a long time.

Toby's lips drifted to his cheek. Elliot could feel his breath, could feel the roughness of his jaw. "That was unexpected."

"Was it?" Elliot whispered. He felt like he'd been transparent from the very start, to Toby if not to himself.

Fingers rubbed at the short hair on the back of Elliot's head, as intimate as the kiss. "I never expect to get things I want." Elliot was a thing Toby wanted. It lit a spark that Elliot had been starting to think was dead. Toby's hand drifted down Elliot's tie, and that felt more intimate than the kiss. "Maybe we should take this upstairs."

_Sketch by Barbana_

Yes. No... shit. "I can't. Liv's waiting." Oh, hell. Elliot looked back - she was staring, open-mouthed. Great poker face, Detective.

Toby's soft snort pulled him back and Elliot had a moment to study his face, wide-eyed, shock still softening all the familiar lines. Toby really hadn't expected this. "Guess we don't have to have a talk about whether you're coming out to your colleagues."

Coming out? All he'd been thinking about five seconds ago was Toby. What can of worms had he opened? "It's... She's my partner, it's-"

"I know. I was just teasing." 

No, he was definitely not 'coming out' to the squad, but Elliot couldn't think about that stuff right now. He just kissed Toby. He wanted to do it again. He was standing on the street in Toby's arms, his own hands on Toby's waist. Solid, not like Kathy's soft curves. He liked it. He wanted to explore, find more differences. All he'd wanted to do when he came up those stairs was talk, and now he was floating. "If nothing comes up, I should be out by six tonight." He wanted to kiss Toby some more.

"I have Holly." Damn. "My mother's taking her to a show tomorrow?"

"I have Dickie and Lizzie."

Toby huffed. "Monday?"

"I'll be here." Two days. Elliot couldn't bottle this up that long.

"If you don't get called in to work."

"Don't jinx me." 

Toby played with Elliot's tie; he didn't pull but Elliot took it as an invitation. He pretended Olivia wasn't ogling like a voyeur and this time he paid attention as he leaned in, closing his eyes before Toby did. This time the kiss was the two of them, lips working together as Elliot tightened his hold, ran a hand up Toby's back. Toby was solid, and his sweater was soft, and his mouth was firm. So different from Kathy.

Liv was waiting. Elliot pulled away, and backed down the stairs before he could kiss Toby again. Toby watched him go with a confused little smile - he really hadn't expected this. But he looked pleased. Elliot liked it.

Elliot took his time coming down the stairs. He didn't know what he was going to say to Olivia. Coming out to the precinct? Like he was gay? No way in hell. Maybe he should have thought this through some more before he went around kissing a man. In front of Olivia. In front of the whole street. Elliot looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention except Liv.

Elliot slid into the car, still half-floating, gut twisted like he was facing a fire fight.

Olivia checked the mirrors and pulled out. "I want to interview Borowitz again. She's had a couple of days - maybe she's feeling stronger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delicious sketch of Elliot and Toby on the stoop is by the amazing Barbana, barbanaqoc@hotmail.com. I asked her to draw it as my reward to myself for finishing this story, but I'll let you look at it too.


	12. The second coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 11:  
> Elliot's Kathy-themed morning wank took a turn into curious musings about Toby and his wife. Toby and Elliot met up for a meal to exchange their latest crap: Elliot's collapsed case, and Toby's fears in dealing with Holly's trauma.   
> Elliot reached the point where he had to talk to Toby about his confused feelings, but he found himself kissing Toby instead, and not feeling the slightest bit of regret. Except maybe for doing it in front of Olivia.  
> Also, there was pretty Barbana art.

Toby paced around his living room, checking the clock again. Elliot would be here any minute.

He absolutely couldn't do this. He couldn't treat Elliot this way. Elliot was having some kind of mid-life, post-divorce crisis, and Toby wasn't going to use that to find out if Elliot groaned like Chris when he came. He wasn't going to hope Elliot would pin him to a wall and suck his tongue and wrestle his pants down and his legs up and fill him with cock.

Could Elliot fuck like Chris? One-eyed obsession, animal need, like every touch was supposed to prove that no one had ever, would ever love Toby like he did?

Elliot didn't have that in him. He hadn't kissed that way on the front step. It had been gentle, sweet. Like a teenage boy with a skittish girl.

Toby had been wracking his imagination for days about what the hell was going on in Elliot's head. Elliot wasn't some kind of affection-starved trauma victim locked in an all-male prison dealing with his wife's suicide. The divorce had been hard on him, but plenty of men got through divorce without lip-locking another guy. Maybe there'd been some case at work throwing Elliot into a spin. That was the best theory Toby had going, but even if it was just some crazed urge to walk the wild side with a piece of rough, Toby owed him better than to take advantage. If Toby had any decency left.

He wasn't sure he did.

He missed Chris so fucking much. And Elliot was right here, offering it.

If Elliot had come straight up on Saturday after that kiss, Toby would have kicked his conscience to the kerb and fucked him. Or if this had been a drunken, confused fumbling experimentation they could blame on the drink and then Elliot could pretend to forget in the morning, Toby wouldn't have been any kind of saint. He would have thrown his sobriety away - again - and poured them both a few more glasses, and tried very hard not to let the wrong name slip. If Elliot had kissed him a few months sooner he wouldn't have had a conscience for using him at all.

But Toby had had two days to think and this was sober and planned and Elliot was the best friend he had. Elliot's voice had been quiet when he called from work to check Toby was still free tonight. Trusting.

That sheepish, hopeful smile from the front stairs nagged at him. Toby hadn't been looking to flip the poor guy's world over. It couldn't have meant anything. Elliot was a good man with a solid job - busting guys like Toby - and a devoted family. Toby was a self-destructive wreck with a fixation on his dead lover's look-alike, not a romantic lead, and he was fucking insane if he was going to screw up the only friendship he had just so he could pretend it was Chris's cock up his ass one more time.

Chris. Toby missed him so much he felt sick with it. He wanted Elliot to hold him again, like last week, and not let go. He wanted Elliot to whisper apologies for dragging Toby back to prison, for falling back over that balcony and leaving Toby behind, alone in that place. He wanted Chris to tell him he still loved him after all of it.

The intercom buzzed, and Toby pressed the button without checking, leaned against the wall. Elliot was downstairs. Too late to pack everything up and move to San Diego, so Toby was going to have to give him the 'just friends' speech. Elliot was planning to kiss him and certain enough that he hadn't cared that his partner saw. Did Elliot believe that time served was the worst thing in Toby's past? 

Toby jumped at the knock on the door, had to force himself across the room to open it.

They stared at each other across the threshold. Toby had learned all the subtle differences over the past few months - the extra muscle in Elliot's shoulders, the shifted posture, the softness in his face - all the details that made Elliot not-Chris. Now he saw the strong jaw, the big hands, the sharp blue eyes, and it summoned up the heart-wrenching deja vu from that first glimpse of the ghost climbing out of the squad car outside Franco's. This was Chris, and Toby wanted him.

He stepped back, letting Elliot in, wondering if his own mask was anywhere near as good as Elliot's, because Elliot looked utterly calm as he moved around the room. Turning over Holly's book to see the title, taking in the knick knacks on the shelf. Toby's will was crumbling now Elliot was here, filling Toby's living room, vibrating with nervous energy. Toby wanted another kiss.

Elliot wasn't Chris. He wasn't going to fuck like Chris, kiss like Chris, love like Chris.

Tear his life apart, like Chris.

Elliot opened and closed a drawer, picked up a photo.

"Do you have a warrant?" Toby asked, and Elliot's head jerked up, surprised and then abashed. He put it down.

"Sorry."

How many times had Toby fantasised about a safer reincarnation of Chris? All that passion and love but with his history redacted so he might be paroled, his obsession blunted just far enough that Toby could bring him home and play house, his violence tamed until Toby could trust him with Holly and Harry, with his family and friends and all the irritations of the everyday world?

"Are you working up to telling me you've changed your mind?" A little part of Toby hoped he would. Because this was crazy, but God had filed all the edges off Chris and sent him back into Toby's arms, and Toby was weak, already bowing under the greed clawing in his belly, weighing in his pants.

"No." Elliot rubbed his hands over his shirt. Was he sweating? "I've just never done anything like this before."

The hesitation wasn't like Chris. The inexperience wasn't like Chris. But that stray dog look in his eye, that hope for scraps and fear of a boot... Toby's voice was raw as he said, "A man."

Elliot wrinkled his nose. Not like Chris. "I don't understand it. It doesn't make any sense. I was married. I have kids."

Toby shrugged. He'd been exactly where Elliot was right now, and he still didn't have any magic words. If he were a better man, he'd be telling Elliot to turn tail and run, to put this crisis back in its box and find a woman to turn his world right-way-up again before Toby shredded his life. But Toby was a selfish, terrible person, no matter how Elliot looked at him.

Toby dropped his gaze and Elliot took that as an invitation, taking the final step forward and sliding a hand behind Toby's neck as he leaned in. Chris's heavy, sure fingers. Elliot's hesitant, gentle lips. Toby wanted to press inside, find out how he tasted - hell, he wanted to shove Elliot to the floor and suck his cock right now - but he let Elliot lead, scrabbling for differences to screw to his self control. This wasn't the man he was looking for.

Slow and soft, nothing but lips... Elliot was kissing like Toby was his wife, like they were making up after a fight. Too subtle for Chris but it settled in Toby's groin just the same.

It had been three years since Toby's last kiss. The Judas kiss, when Chris begged him to do one little favour for Bonnie. Anger flared, and subsided. The one who stole Toby from his children wasn't here.

Elliot broke the kiss slowly, rocked back to meet Toby's eyes. "That felt good." And then his eyes dropped, and shifted off to the side, and there was a trace of heat in his cheeks. Elliot, father of four, straight and a little repressed, kissing a man for the second time. "I didn't exactly come with a plan."

Toby had a plan. Elliot on his knees on the bed, ass in the air, face planted in a pillow, muffled cries for more. Arms spread so Toby could stare at that tattoo of Jesus stretched over Elliot's skin. Had Chris felt like this on New Year's Eve? Like some debaucher of heterosexuality?

"No plan other than kissing you, anyway."

Toby touched Elliot's lips. "I like kissing." A quiet voice whispered in the back of Toby's mind - was this how Chris felt, all those lying, seductive words?

Elliot smiled, and it was beautiful. Like a man who'd been told he was forgiven, invited back to share a pod. It took Toby's breath away, made his hard cock even harder. Elliot looked down and put his hands on Toby's waist. "I don't... I'm not sure about the rest of it."

Toby barely caught his laugh. Elliot kissed a man, and didn't want to get his pants off? Where else did he think this would lead? Did he want to go the movies and hold hands?

"It's ridiculous, I know." Elliot rubbed his forehead. "But I've never even-"

"It's not ridiculous." Of course it was, but there was no reason to scare Elliot more. No reason to grind his iron erection into Elliot's hip, give him a few specific ideas about how men fucked.

Chris hadn't held back: that first night in lockdown they'd done damn near everything despite Toby's barely-healed stab wound, Chris giving no quarter for Toby's traumatic baptism with Vern, blanketing every hesitation with hedonistic pleasure. Toby had been a whole new person by New Year's morning. 

Toby was no master of seduction, didn't know how he would go about doing that with Elliot, and only the smallest, darkest part of him wanted to try. The very least he could do was savour every blush and fumble, catalogue every difference in this mirror-Chris for as long as he was willing. Starting with these cock-teasing treacle-kisses.

"Show me what you are sure of."

Elliot looked up, eyes dark, a flash of danger like a whisper of Chris, and edged Toby backwards until his ass hit the wall and then he kissed him again, still gentle as before but now Elliot took a moment to rub their cheeks, came back to suck his lip. Toby felt a tongue flick against him and disappear as hands tightened on his waist. Toby groaned.

Elliot pressed closer, opened Toby's mouth with his own and a diffident tongue touched Toby's teeth, deliciously erotic. It had been an age since seduction counted as anything more than a long look and 'Got condoms?' An age since sex felt intimate.

On and on, never escalating beyond a gentle squeeze of Toby's hip, the briefest dip of tongue, never enough to measure the taste of him against his twin. Chris loved to kiss, could kiss for hours, but always thrusting his delicious tongue deeper, always pushing his hard-on against every bit of Toby he could reach, urgency and control, whispering filthy promises and obsession, making Toby feel more desirable than he'd ever imagined, more than he expected he ever would, after Vern desecrated him.

Toby ran his hands up Elliot's chest either side of that alien work tie, cotton shirt over solid pectorals that were so familiar and not quite right but he wanted more anyway. To the sudden, alien bump of Elliot's shoulder holster. He wouldn't have ever found that on Chris.

All of Toby's experiences with guns had been bad: blind shots raining through tear gas breaking up the riot, Chris bleeding in his arms, the news of Said's death delivered like an afterthought.

"Does it bother you?" Elliot asked gently.

Toby realised he'd stopped, so he slid his hands along Elliot's broad shoulders. "No." Mostly it was just a niggling reminder that only one of them was a felon.

Elliot shifted closer, liking the touch. Only so close, though - no hard-on contact here. Elliot wanted this but he wasn't ready to feel Toby's cock against his thigh, wasn't ready to let Toby measure how hard he'd got. Toby would have fucked him at the drop of a belt but Toby wasn't a man who could bully. Not about this.

Though he could make out with his only friend under false pretences. A real model of good citizenship. He had to get some control. Slow this and then maybe he'd find the strength to stop it.

Toby eased him back, laid a hand against his jaw. The sight of Elliot's wet lips made him throb. "We don't need to rush." They didn't. Toby almost laughed as he realised the truth of it. No coke-heads were going to bang on the door of the toilet stall, no guards were going to shine a flashlight in their glass-walled pod. They had all the time in the world, for Elliot to come to his senses or Toby to find his spine, and maybe for a while Toby could stop drinking and just know the bottle was in reach. "Are you hungry?"

Elliot stared at his mouth, and then his eyes, and then his mouth again. "Really?" But he couldn't completely hide his relief. Elliot wasn't ready for this to escalate to the X-rated images on Toby's mind.

Toby gave him one more kiss to show they were only taking a break, prouder of himself than he'd been for anything in a long time. "I'm hungry. Want to go out or stay in?"

"Got any good leftovers?"

Toby shook his head. He'd been too riled to cook. And outside, in public, would be safer for them both. You couldn't chug a bottle of whiskey in a well-lit restaurant. "There's a hamburger place around the corner. Bright lights and linoleum floors, but the burgers are good."

A crooked little smile. "Sure."

Toby grabbed his wallet and headed out towards safety, but Elliot brushed against him as they reached the door and Toby caught his elbow, needing one more little fix. "Is there any chance I'll get your shirt off tonight?"

Elliot flushed. "I... Uh, yeah. There's a chance of that."

Toby slid his hand over Elliot's hard bicep where Christ hung, waiting. The Second Coming. Toby watched Elliot's colour deepen, until he reached past to open the door. Yeah. Elliot would be ready for more than kissing.

 

They walked a good hetero foot apart to the burger place, made their orders and sat at a table by the wall. Safely exposed, and a situation that recalled dinners and conversations instead of sweaty groping in a dark corner of his pod. This was Elliot, talking about his kids, about Olivia, grousing about the brass, becoming himself again.

Only this version of Elliot Stabler had just kissed Toby. Toby couldn't grasp what was going on in his head. He waited until they were picking over the last of the cold fries before he asked, "Do you want to talk about this?"

Elliot gave him a look that said what he thought of that.

Toby tried a different tack. "What did Olivia say after our little show?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? She didn't think it was unusual to see you kissing men on the street?"

Elliot ground his jaw. "No, that was new."

"She doesn't want to know?"

"Oh, she wants to know, all right. She's just not going to ask."

Toby huffed a laugh. "Doesn't that manly repressed emotion thing ever get tiring?

Elliot lifted his chin and blinked, taking the tease more seriously than it deserved. "Sometimes."

Toby wanted to squeeze his hand - probably would have, a few days ago - but it now it seemed too loaded for a public place. "If she's not going to ask, then I guess it's up to me. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He lifted a shoulder and dropped it, casual as you please.

"Not freaking out? A little?" Toby needed to see a little freaking out. A cop in crisis. A spike to his conscience.

"Why? Just because I'm a straight, middle-aged Catholic man with four kids and an ex-wife and some kind of out-of-the-blue attraction to another man?" Just like that.

"Doesn't sound strange to me."

Elliot's eyes focused, and he leaned forward. "How did it happen for you?" Toby shook his head, but Elliot covered his hand, squeezed it briefly and let go. "Please?" Those big blue eyes probably got him a lot of things he didn't deserve.

Toby stared down at the table, searching for palatable pieces he could pull out of that mess. "I thought I'd hit bottom. 'Bottom' is a relative term in prison. I was just learning to survive, and then they moved a new guy into my pod."

"And?"

"And he took a blender to everything I thought I was."

Elliot frowned, thinking through that. "Is this the man who abused you?"

"No." Not exactly. Not that abuser. "No. Chris came after."

"Chris?"

Toby had never let his name slip before, and he didn't like hearing it in Elliot's mouth, reminding him of just what a manipulative fuck he was being. He wanted this conversation over.

"You cared about him?" Naked surprise.

"I did."

"And did he...?"

"We loved each other." Toby dumped it out there, got it out of the way, and he thought, randomly, of holding Chris close before Chris was whisked away to Cedar Junction. Chris took the fall for Toby's hit on Hank Schillinger. What would Elliot think of that? "We saved each other."

Elliot mulled that for a while: this new revelation that Toby's history with men wasn't all rape and anonymous fucking. "So what was it about him?"

Toby was desperately alone and Chris was a charming sociopath on a mission to destroy what was left of him for the entertainment of Vern Schillinger. There were some things Elliot never needed to hear, and Chris was the last thing Toby wanted to discuss with Elliot tonight. Or ever. "I don't know."

"Where is he now?"

"The same as everyone else," Toby snapped. "Dead. Are we done with the interrogation, Detective?"

Elliot pulled back. "I'm sorry."

Toby wanted Elliot to be pissed. He wanted Elliot to storm out of here, so they wouldn't end up back at Toby's apartment, kissing as he lied his ass off. Elliot wasn't treating him like a suspect. Toby was just being an irritable prick because he felt guilty about lying like a lawyer, omission and distraction and not telling Elliot exactly what he deserved to know: that they were here right now because he was a dead ringer for Toby's dead lover. "No, I'm sorry. I just... I don't want to talk about him."

"No, you're right. I always keep digging. It's habit."

They fell quiet, rapport broken. If it was Chris sitting opposite him, this would be the start of hours of cold shoulder as Toby apologised and nagged, all while Chris pretended there was nothing wrong. Toby waited to see how - if - Elliot would be different.

Elliot lasted all of three minutes. "I don't know what it is about you either, why I can talk to you, why I'm excited about seeing you when I get off work. I'm just trying to make sense of this." His eyes were warm and sincere, and the words heated Toby through. He wished it had been so easy with Chris.

Fuck it. He was going to be selfish. Maybe Elliot needed this just as much as he did, and Elliot never needed to know what was going on in the back of Toby's mind. He wiped his fingers on his napkin and pressed his ankle against Elliot's. "I'm done eating. How about we head back to my place? You can kiss me some more." Toby could teach him to kiss more like Chris, and maybe that would be enough. Or maybe it would get him more. If Toby had to fudge this a little he would. If he could pretend some drunken stranger pounding him in a stall was Chris then Elliot would be a cakewalk. Toby could keep his eyes open.

Elliot smiled, relieved. "Let's go." He picked up the check and followed Toby out the door. Toby was going to keep his mouth shut and stop talking things to death, just like Chris would have told him to do, and see how far he could push things with his mouth and wandering hands. Not what Chris would have told him to do with some new lover who wasn't Chris, but it was what Chris would have done, in his position. Forgive me and let me fuck you, all in one breath.

As they hit the street, Elliot's phone rang. "Stabler." He body shifted into work mode - Toby had learned the way he held himself when he was on the job, different to when he was talking to his kids, different to the way he moved when he was focused on Toby. "Where?" There'd be no fucking Elliot tonight. Relief and disappointment stormed through, tangled up together. "I'll be there in twenty." He slipped his phone away as he turned, a rueful look on his face. "I guess you won't be taking off my shirt just yet."

Wow. The bedroom voice was new. Gravelly and promising and all Elliot. "Next time."

Toby walked him to his car, and they didn't touch as he climbed in. "I'll call you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby came up on his elbows, eyes wide in the dark. He was alone. Chris wasn't here.

He struggled to summon the pieces of dream. He'd been back in Oz... except it wasn't Oz: it was a shopping mall, and he'd been searching for Chris but there were copies of him everywhere: browsing in stores, selling shoes, mopping floors. He had to find Chris before count, but Chris didn't want to see him. Toby stared up at the ceiling, counting his breaths.

Chris wasn't turning away from him again. He wasn't abandoning Toby to Mondo Browne or calling him a bitch in front of the rest of Oz. Chris was dead.

So why could Toby feel his scorn, leaching through the room?

Toby swung himself out of bed and felt his way through to the bathroom to piss. He didn't piss two feet from his bed anymore. Chris's disgust followed him like the weight of that stare across Em City. 

'You got yourself a bland, domesticated replacement, Toby? You thought all these months that it was enough to be friends with that cop? Now you think prying your way between those prim knees is gonna fill the gap I left?'

Elliot couldn't replace Chris, but Toby was so fucking needy that a bit of kissing tonight had him craving any touch he could get. Even if Elliot wasn't man enough to follow through, give Toby what he needed.

He slid back to his bedroom and went to his knees to dig into the very back of his t-shirt drawer until he found the crinkle of a plastic shopping bag. Toby dragged it out into his lap. Bunched inside was the soft material of his little red dress. He took a slow breath in, let it slowly out. He didn't have to do this. In the very bottom of the bag was a box with eyeliner and lipstick. Nowhere in here was the man Elliot thought he was kissing tonight, not even the one Chris had fought for.

This bag held Vern Schillinger's prag.

Elliot was a goddamn fool, if he thought Tobias Beecher had anything to offer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot stowed his gun, pulled off his tie, started unbuttoning his shirt. He still didn't know what this whole thing with Toby was about.

It seemed like a man ought to know what it meant, or at least what came next when he kissed someone, but Elliot was well and truly confused. Thank god Olivia was pretending she'd never seen the kiss on Toby's steps, only giving herself away with the occasional thoughtful stare when she thought Elliot wasn't looking. He couldn't have handled one of her interrogations.

He hadn't had the time to reminisce at the crime scene or through the flurry of witnesses, but now it was almost three am and Elliot was a little buzzed from lack of sleep and the apartment was quiet and the last few hours of work were slipping away under the memory of kissing Toby. He'd liked kissing Toby. Hard lips and stubbled chin.

It hadn't been like it was with Kathy, and yet somehow it was. Was he gay now? He didn't feel different - at least not that kind of different. He was glad he'd been honest enough to tell Toby he wasn't sure about what he wanted out of this. His mind still shied away from the details of what Toby was going to expect if this kept going, but he wasn't done kissing him.

He didn't know what Toby did expect, but nobody was ever going to be fucking anybody in any public bathrooms. His ass puckered at the thought of it.

Elliot brushed his teeth and pissed, replaying the evening. He'd spent the last few days quietly panicking about what was going to happen, if Toby might feed him the 'just friends' speech, or worse, try to drag him straight into bed. He'd been so caught up in the whole issue of Toby being a man that he hadn't thought to worry about how clueless and inexperienced he'd feel himself, fumbling around with someone new for the first time since he was a kid. It hadn't mattered. They'd been on exactly the same page. For all his discomfortingly broad exploits, Toby hadn't been in any rush to get Elliot's pants off, and he'd been too kind to tell Elliot if he was doing it wrong, or being weird.

Elliot wondered if his patience was partly down to the mysterious Chris. He'd always assumed Toby went from victim to promiscuity, and now... Toby had loved a man. Elliot hadn't expected that. Elliot sat on the side of the bed. What had Chris been like? What kind of man did you find in prison, that could soothe the damage done by rape? Facing a sudden mid-life attraction to a man was hard enough without that kind of history.

Elliot would have been okay with Toby taking his shirt off. He'd liked how Toby's body had felt solid and strong through the fabric; Elliot wouldn't have minded touching bare skin. Wouldn't have minded finding out how he felt about exploring a flat, furred chest.

As he slid into bed, he closed his eyes and let himself drift back a few hours, rewrote the evening so Toby's hands had the chance to unbutton his shirt and drift up his skin, so Elliot found the courage to drag Toby's polo shirt up over his head. Elliot closed his eyes and took his thickening cock in hand, imagined they'd got back to kissing, just like that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The music was loud and the crowd was young, but Toby wasn't the oldest one here. He was a better fit with the old raging queens than the vibrant, drug-addled dancers, could see it in the derision in their eyes as they watched him pass and got back to thrusting in time. Toby welcomed it. They were right about him.

It had been months, and nothing had changed. Toby could reach the bar in twelve steps, credit card down and he'd be drunk off his ass in half an hour. From where he stood right now, he saw six different guys who could palm him any drug he'd heard of, and a few he hadn't. That's why Toby never brought extra cash. He was a paragon of virtue when it came to booze and drugs, a credit to all Sister Pete's hard work.

When it came to fucking, on the other hand... This place, these men, made Toby another kind of junkie. From standing right here, Toby could see seven - no, eight - different guys whose cocks he'd had in his mouth or up his ass. Given a chance, Chris would have spilled their blood and used it to stamp his name on Toby's skin and the darkest parts of Toby would have liked it. What would Elliot have thought of that?

Elliot Stabler was no anonymous fuck, no junkie's fix. He was a tepid substitute, and Toby had grasped for him as if Elliot's warmth was a match for Chris's fire. Toby wondered what Chris would have done to Elliot. He doubted a broken neck would have been enough.

Toby's mind shuddered away from wondering how he felt about that, attention turning to scan the room. Rua was by the stairs, shouting in the ear of one of the pretty, jaw-grinding dancers who'd sneered at Toby earlier. He'd do well enough. It only took a finger tracing the tribal patterns tattooed across his back and a silent gaze and Rua was smiling, forgetting his fresh conquest and nudging Toby towards the bathroom. Toby pulled him to the bathrooms upstairs instead, far from the one where Leo Markstrom bled out.

Rua was a reliable fuck. A tank of a man with a beer can of a cock who never tried to kiss Toby or ride him bare. He just shuffled Toby into a dirty stall and turned him to brace against the cistern as he worked the hem of Toby's dress up his thighs, over his bare ass to bunch around his hips. "You've been missed around here." Spit-covered fingers wiped a damp streak down Toby's ass, and then two pushed inside to test the way. "Nobody loosened you up yet, baby?" Rua wiggled his fingers to stretch him.

Toby gripped the sides of the cistern. "Call me sweetpea."

The familiar sounds of foil and latex, and then Toby's tattooed friend gripped his hips hard enough to bruise. "Sure thing, sweetpea."

Toby barely muffled his moan as the guy split him open, fuck it hurt, but the name stabbed deeper where a stranger's dick couldn't reach. Prag. Bitch. Good for nothing but you bend over and take my cock so nicely, sweetpea.


	13. Next base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 12:  
> Toby knew he was being a terrible person, lying and leading Elliot astray, so he resolved to put an end to whatever this was. As soon as Elliot walked through the door, that resolution crumbled like an Aryan with a gum transplant. He did manage to stay inside Elliot's safety zone of kissing, and even managed to pull the brakes hard enough to get out the door to dinner. Toby finally let slip about Chris, his prison lover, but he cut it off quickly. A bad dream reminded Toby just what an undeserving fuck he was, so he took his issues back to Franco's.

When Elliot called, Toby suggested they meet up at the cookhouse. A big, slow meal, so there'd be plenty of time to tell Elliot this was done. Of course, that just gave him an excuse to keep putting it off, so they ended up talking about everything else instead. 

"Are you going to talk to management?" Elliot popped a piece of cornbread in his mouth, oblivious.

"I can't. He's a good guy, he's got three kids and he really went out on a limb to get me this job."

While they discussed real estate law Toby shifted in his seat to reawaken the sting of the damage he'd done on Monday night. A night getting fucked and three days gritting his teeth every time he took a shit since hadn't filled the craving. Elliot's timid, patient kisses weren't going to fill it either, but Toby could ruin him with the trying. Maybe the kindest thing Chris had ever done for Toby was when he severed contact from Cedar Junction, told Toby to run for his life.

Elliot sucked barbecue sauce off his fingers. "It sounds like Emilio went out on a limb to find someone who was qualified to cover his ass."

Toby imagined dragging Elliot off to the restroom and shoving a hand down his pants, getting a fistful of a cock he knew like his own. He was pretty sure that would do it. Elliot could pin Toby in a stall as big as the floor space in an Em City pod, hesitation forgotten for sure, demanding hands. "I don't care if he did. This isn't a top-level corporate legal firm; it's a local real estate business. It's where the bottom half of the Syracuse and Albany students end up. Yeah, I could do this stuff in my sleep, but Emilio is a member of the bar, and I'm not."

Toby wanted to remember how it felt to be in Chris's arms behind the bunks, desperate and madly in love and perfectly certain that Chris loved him right back. He wasn't going to get that from Elliot. He wasn't going to get it in Franco's either, but at least there he wasn't going to hurt anyone else by trying.

"You miss it." Elliot was talking about the law.

"God, yes. Twenty-four hours and a five-hundred page legal contract, and somewhere in there is the key to doing whatever it is you want to do, provided you can find the precedent." And when they were done, victory drinks at Marcelle's.

Elliot swallowed the last of the cornbread. "Twenty-four seven paperwork. Sounds like hell."

"You think we should have split our time with chasing the paralegals around the city and interrogating the law clerks?"

"That I could get into." Elliot smiled, and there was an intensity that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. 

Toby didn't want to lose this, the real part of their friendship, but he didn't see how it could go any other way. Sorry I screwed around with you, Elliot, but let's talk some more about my troubles at work while I wish I was fucking my lover.

Elliot's smiled dimmed. "Something wrong, Toby?"

"I don't know if this was a good idea."

The shutters came down. "All right."

"Elliot, I'm an ex-con and a recovering addict and I've barely started scraping my life together." And none of those reasons were the biggest reason why this was wrong, but as long as Toby put a stop to it, the why didn't have to be Elliot's business. "It felt... It's been a long time since touching someone felt good. It's been a long time since anyone gave a damn. But I'm a fuck-up and you're a good man, Elliot. You deserve better." Toby had no idea if that was coherent.

Elliot looked around, making sure no one was listening, and then he hunched over his elbows. "I know all of that stuff. You think I haven't been worrying about it? I'm a big boy. I think I can make those choices for myself."

"Yes, but I'm not-"

"I didn't wake up one day and... I didn't decide to do this and then pick you because you were nearby. You're the only guy I've ever... You're the one who made me want..." He covered his face with his hands, took a breath, and pulled them way. "Look, either you want me, or the way you," he hesitated, dropped his voice, "you kissed me the other night was just some kind of pity performance and I've been misreading all the looks."

He had been misreading the looks. Just not the way he thought. "It's not that. You know how you... You're sexy as hell, Elliot. I've wanted to peel your clothes off for a better look since the first time I laid eyes on you."

That perked him up again. "And now I'm offering. Peel my clothes off." A crooked smile. "Start with my shirt, anyway."

Why did he have to make this so fucking hard? Toby was almost embarrassed for Elliot. This was getting too close to begging. Elliot deserved something closer to the truth. "I'm not over Chris."

"Oh." That was what had finally gotten through.

"The other night, that was nice, but I don't know if I'll ever be over him. It wasn't just... He changed me. You can't imagine what he did for me."

Elliot looked away, jaw set.

Done. Toby had done the right thing, and he was relieved. He'd been strong after all. The truth had saved him more than once and it was going to scare Elliot off now. "I loved him. He's been dead two and a half years and I still love him. I still see him in crowds, still half-expect to find him when I wake up in the night." I'm looking at him right now.

Elliot didn't stand. He didn't look at Toby, either. He was quiet for a long time, and then he asked, "Do you think I'm over Kathy?"

Well... no.

"It's not even five months since I took the ring off. We had twenty years of marriage, four kids and all the hospital visits and birthday parties and dirty laundry that go with it. Even if I could forget I loved her, which I won't for you or anybody, we'll always have the kids tying us together."

"Then that's all the more reason not to do something that will drive a wedge through your family."

Elliot closed his hands into fists, frustrated, frowning down at the table. "That's not... This isn't about my family right now. All my life, since I was just a kid myself, everything I've done has been about my family. This is about me. I'm saying I can't make any guarantees either. I don't even know if I can..." He made an awkward gesture with his hand. "I don't know if that's what I'm here for. I've only ever looked at women. If you're half as confused as I am, then that's... it's a relief." He finally looked up. "I'm almost forty, with a wreck of a marriage and a job that runs my life. I'm not holding out for some kind of fairy tale. Do you think I'm under the impression you're Prince Charming? Maybe I'm just terrified of being alone."

Toby stared at him.

"I just know that after all that, I still want to get your shirt off. I don't want to marry you, Toby. I don't want this to be about my family. I want to know how it feels to touch you."

"Then let's get the check and go home."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The way they rushed up the stairs, Elliot was expecting to be slammed against a wall and kissed hard, but they swept through the door and Toby locked it and they just stood there, neither of them really sure what should come next. Toby shed his jacket and dropped it over a hook, stood there in his jeans and polo shirt, stalled again. Like listening to his confession in the restaurant, seeing self-possessed, worldly Toby this stumped was reassuring. Elliot was acutely aware that before Monday night, the entire realm of his experience was one woman. Toby had more experience than Elliot wanted to think about. Elliot only knew how to be with Kathy. He'd studied plenty of what the freaks and the monsters of the world did but he didn't know how normal people went about getting started with someone new. He was just going to have to guess.

Elliot took a step forward and kissed him. He'd got this much down. Took his time, let Toby's arms find their way around his waist, sent his own hands roaming over Toby's back from narrow waist to broad shoulders and gradually down again. He liked the shape of him. Toby had an amazing mouth, firm and gentle, the spices from dinner lingering on his tongue. His tongue lingering on Elliot's. Making Elliot's cock swell. It turned out Toby could make him hard, after all.

Elliot let his hands slide down to Toby's belt, curled his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He sent up a little prayer that he'd be okay with this before he dragged it up, over Toby's head, and... yeah. He was okay with this. Toby wore a grey tank beneath that stretched over his body, and Elliot didn't hesitate to peel that off, too. He wanted skin. He ran his hands along Toby's shoulders, down his muscled chest, skirting the tight abs. There was power here, a new kind of turn-on. His skin was whiter than white, probably hadn't seen sun since before Oswald. Less chest hair than Elliot, just a little around his nipples. Elliot wasn't sure how he would have felt if Toby was really hairy, but this he could handle. This much he kind of liked. He was feeling up a man, and he liked it. He slid his fingers through, saw Toby enjoyed the tug as much as Elliot did.

Toby took hold of the knot of Elliot's tie. "May I?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I should have-"

Toby kissed him, whispered against his cheek, "I would have let you know if I objected." He drew the tie through Elliot's collar and dropped it aside, and then he slipped his hands under the lapels of Elliot's jacket, feeling his chest for a moment before sliding them up, lifting his jacket over his shoulders, reaching back to toss it over the back of one of the dining chairs. 

Elliot had left his gun and holster at the station, with a quiet thrill that no one there knew he was stripping it off for Toby.

Toby turned back, a quiet smile curving his lips. "Still doing okay?"

Elliot caught his hands and pulled him closer, until their mouths were half an inch apart. "Keep going." If this was how it felt to be selfish, to do what you wanted instead of what other people needed, then Elliot wanted more.

Toby leaned closer, and Elliot waited for the kiss, felt hands sliding under his collar. Deft fingers slipped the buttons, were halfway down his shirt before Toby closed the gap and kissed him, slow and sexy kisses until Elliot's shirt hung loose, and then Toby pushed it all the way off.

Elliot noticed the way his eyes flicked straight to his tattoo of Christ, poking out from his undershirt. He just looked for a long moment, and then he moved closer, chest-to-chest as he touched his lips to Elliot's neck and scrabbled at the bottom of his shirt, working it out of his belt, the electric brush of fingers against Elliot's bare skin as Toby got a grip on the hem and pulled slowly up Elliot's body, raising Elliot's arms over his head.

Elliot realised he was holding his breath, let it rush out as Toby dropped his shirt on the floor. Toby's eyes wandered over him, naked lust. Nothing like the sideways glances Elliot had been picking up over the last few months: this was raw and hungry, Toby not even conscious of how he was biting his lip as he took Elliot in. Elliot fought the urge to flex, show off. He wanted Toby to touch him, to want him. He wanted Toby to want him more than he was comfortable with wanting Toby, just yet.

Toby suddenly pulled Elliot into his arms. Elliot hugged him back, the press of his flat body, the tickle of hair nothing like Kathy's soft breasts. Toby felt massive and hard, coiled and masculine, like he could crush Elliot if he wanted to. Elliot could have spent the rest of the night just like this, holding Toby. Toby's fingers drifted up to play with the back of Elliot's neck, and his body swelled with a sigh. Maybe Toby wanted someone to hold him as much as Elliot did. Elliot buried his nose in Toby's hair.

 

Minutes passed before Toby shifted, just turning his head to kiss behind Elliot's ear. Another minute before the next kiss, a little lower, and then the next. That wet mouth painted lines up his throat and down the tendons of his shoulders as Toby's hands skirted over his ribs. Elliot wanted to explore but not as much as he wanted to feel this attention.

Toby kneaded his biceps, traced his tattoo of Christ, but he moved on before Elliot could ask. He followed the curves of Elliot's muscles as though he'd never seen someone so fascinating, measuring them against his own hands, and then he circled around behind, fingers never leaving Elliot's skin. "Must be a nice body to live in."

Elliot shrugged, awkward with the compliment. "I have to look after it for the job."

Toby snorted. "Yeah, 'cause it's not like there are any donut-stuffed porkers on the force."

"I guess those guys don't have as many perps to chase."

Toby moved closer, though he kept his groin away from Elliot's ass, and Elliot was grateful for that. "You like looking like this. You don't build a body like this without taking some pride in it."

Was that what Toby saw, when he looked at Elliot? Pride? The toned body? It really turned him on? Elliot was still figuring out what turned him on about Toby. There was definitely something; his cock was heavy.

Toby finished his circuit, smiling at Elliot's discomfort. "I'm just saying you have a lot to be proud of."

"Pride's a sin."

"So's lust." Toby's eyes smouldered, and that hardened Elliot's cock and twisted his gut at the same time. No guy had ever made Elliot feel sexy before.

He shrugged again, embarrassed now. Sure, he took pride in his body, but it saved him, too. The burn of muscles was the one safe place he'd found to channel his rage. And if that made women look twice - if it made Toby look twice - then that was a bonus. "I'm glad you like it." He bit his lip, trying to find something he could say in return. He laid his hands on Toby's chest, up the firm muscles and along his collar bones, to powerful shoulders. "You're pretty fit yourself."

Toby's lip curled up like he saw straight through him so Elliot persevered, doing some exploration of his own. A firm stomach, a straight waist, a ridge just behind his waist. Elliot looked. "Is this a stab wound?"

"Just another day in Oz." 

Elliot's fingers played along the scar. Toby had been shanked. Under the ribs and up. "Whoever did this wanted you dead."

"Like I said, another day in Oz." 

Just another day of abuse that Toby brushed off, sharpening that protective temper that Elliot nursed. He didn't need to make Toby talk about it. He laid his hand over the scar and pressed forward and kissed him, wanted to show him he could be gentle, but Toby pulled back with a gasp. A frantic second, an indecipherable look in Toby's eyes - not so casual as he'd pretended - and then Toby caught his hand and tugged him, brought him to the couch, pressing him down and sitting beside him. The position was awkward: Toby had to lean over Elliot, a little too close to lying over him for Elliot's comfort, but the intensity was new, the need in the fingers gripping Elliot's bicep, his waist, sliding up to his neck. The kisses were deeper, dirtier, promising they could go as far as Elliot let them, and a hand smoothed down and clutched Elliot's ass. Whoa.

This felt a hundred steps past kissing. Too much. Elliot put an inch between them and took a breath. Toby jerked away, hands up, eyes wide and wild. "Sorr-"

Elliot caught his hands and kissed him again. He didn't want to stop, or make a fuss, he just...

Toby untangled his hands and put one on Elliot's hip, promising they didn't have to go any further than this. And then his other hand found his knee and that was all right. That was good, as long as it didn't wander up too far. Elliot felt ridiculous, a grown man shying away like some virgin kid, but Toby was acting like it was nothing unusual and it made Elliot like him more.

Elliot buried his hand in Toby's hair and concentrated on Toby's smooth lips, the sharp edge of his teeth, and the way Toby's hands felt drifting up his back and over his knee. This was what he wanted for now, just to be touched. Heavy breathing in the quiet and the easy sort of patient arousal that didn't need to be satisfied just yet. It was enough tasting Toby, realising how good he smelled, getting used to the shape of a hard body under his wandering hands.

Toby liked it when Elliot spread his fingers wide and rubbed his chest. He liked Elliot's hands in his hair. He liked kissing as much as Elliot did, the languid promise of sliding tongues. Elliot didn't need to slide his hand below Toby's belt to know he was hard, and the thought of it thrummed in Elliot's own cock.

 

It was a long time before Toby pulled back, lips wet, eyes smoky. His fingers played along the top of Elliot's belt, breath curling warm in Elliot's ear.

Elliot needed a break, too. "Can I get a drink?"

A soft snort. "Bet you wish you weren't hanging around a teetotaller right now."

No kidding. Elliot would have killed for something strong at this moment. "Water will be fine. Or juice."

Toby patted his hip and he pulled away, and Elliot sucked in a long breath. His thoughts flashed on Kathleen just a few years back, that awkward chat on the back swings when he told her never to let a boy press her to do anything she wasn't ready for. He rubbed his face. He did not want to think about his kids right now. He'd had the same talk with Maureen and it was going to be time to sit down with Elizabeth soon, and maybe he needed to sit himself down and say the same thing. And now he was thinking of his kids, and how they'd react if they found out what was going on right now, and nothing could wilt him faster. He wasn't ready for this. He'd been trying to keep his family and whatever was going on here in very separate boxes. Divorced fathers didn't do this sort of thing.

Except Toby had. Elliot stared at his back as he dug through the fridge. He wanted to ask about Chris again, how it all happened for Toby. A love affair with a cellmate that stuck with him hard enough that he wasn't over it yet. Elliot hardly knew anything about Toby's years in prison. He was raped. He was stabbed. He loved someone. And Elliot had glossed right past it, but back in the cookhouse he'd heard Toby call himself a recovering addict. Did he just mean alcohol? Or was there more to it? That thought killed the last of Elliot's hard-on.

Elliot stood and wandered over to the kitchen doorway. "Must've been a big moment."

Toby looked back, confused.

"First time you realised you could just help yourself to the fridge." Elliot held his breath, hoping this wasn't pushing too hard.

Toby just smiled, and poured two glasses of juice. "I put on ten pounds. Good food, any time I wanted it. God, baked goods. Mother had an espresso machine in the kitchen, so I was always awake for midnight snacking."

Elliot grinned, accepting the glass. "You went nuts for coffee?"

"That's the magic of prison. You can get any drug you want but caffeine."

It was as perfect an opening as he could ask for. Elliot wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he couldn't be left wondering. "You said earlier... back at dinner... You said you were an addict. Is that what got you into trouble, or did that happen in there?"

Toby gave him a long look as he sipped his drink. He saw straight through this for the interrogation tactic it was, but he didn't get angry, or even narrow his eyes. "Alcohol got me into prison. Once I was in there, I smoked, snorted or swallowed anything anyone handed me. The unit dealer saw easy pickings, just like everyone else." Before Elliot could wonder how to probe for details, Toby went on. "Pot, cocaine, heroin. If he was selling, I was buying."

Elliot felt like he'd just swallowed a stone.

"I'm sorry if that messes up some pretty image you had of my prison life being some kind of Broadway musical love story."

"No." But he hadn't been prepared to hear all that.

"Heroin's great. One good snort of heroin, and you don't give a damn who's fucking you."

"I'm sorry." He knew Toby treated shock like a game, and he didn't want to let Toby win. Even if he felt uncomfortable as hell with this. Alcoholism was one thing, even marijuana, but heroin... "How long have you been clean?"

"The drugs came to a sudden stop about a year in." His look practically dared Elliot to press for the story behind that one.

"Nothing since you got out?"

Toby shrugged, seeming disappointed that Elliot didn't give him a better reaction. He jerked a thumb at the machine in the corner. "Caffeine. Won't even do that past two pm now." He finished his glass, put it in the sink."So. Still want to fuck me now you know I'm a junkie?"

Elliot was shying well away from thinking of fucking Toby at all. Thinking of him as a junkie - trying to picture Toby like the greasy-haired flotsam in the projects was a whole different issue. If there was one certainty being a cop taught you, it was that you couldn't ever trust an addict. "I think I can handle someone who's been seven years clean." He hoped.

"Seven years, four months."

In fact, Elliot was having a huge problem with this. Being with a man was confounding, but Elliot was no homophobe; he knew it wasn't wrong. Being with an ex-con was harder, but Toby had made a mistake, and he judged himself as harshly as Elliot could. But Elliot had nothing but flat-out contempt for junkies. This wasn't something he could quietly confess to Olivia.

He decided to tackle the easy half of Toby's question. "Do you mind that I'm... that I don't want to..." This was the easy half, Elliot reminded himself. "I'm nearly forty years old and I feel like a teenager, making out on the couch, afraid to go further."

Toby laughed. "Like Karen Carruthers, freshman year of high school? She was a great kisser, and I barely noticed because I was too busy wondering how to get a hand on her breast."

Elliot smiled. "Or seventeen year-old Kathy telling me I couldn't give her hickeys where her mother might see them."

"Sounds like hickeys weren't the giveaway with you two."

"Not so much."

"Now we're definitely too old for hickeys."

"But are you still busy wondering how to get your hands to the next base?"

Toby's eyes slid straight to Elliot's crotch before he found the control to pull them away. Of course he was. Who didn't want the next temptation, except Elliot Stabler? "I won't pretend I haven't thought about it." Toby wandered closer, and for a moment Elliot thought he was going to share details. "On the other hand, it's been a long time since I just did this." He leaned in and kissed Elliot, slow and sexy. "I've learned to enjoy the journey a lot more than I did when I was fourteen."

Elliot would have been more persuaded if Toby sounded less like Elliot age seventeen, feigning patience for Kathy. Toby could go to that club and have sex with anyone he wanted. Elliot was kissing Toby back, but he didn't really believe-

Toby squeezed the back of his neck, caught his eyes. "You make me feel like a human being." His eyes searched Elliot's, waiting to be sure Elliot believed him.

After everything Elliot had always assumed about the club... he did believe him. He'd bet men didn't hold each other in the bathrooms at Franco's. He pulled Toby all the way against his body and kissed him again. No way Toby got this from strangers.


	14. Cooking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 13:  
> Toby resolved - again - to cut Elliot free, but even telling Elliot he still loved Chris only prompted Elliot to say he wasn't over Kathy, and he wasn't looking for grand romance. And there went Toby's resolve. Again. And both their shirts. There was a lot of kissing, but no pressure to go further. Which was a relief, because finding out Toby used to do heroin was enough for Elliot to deal with.

"Now I'm remembering why I don't get down here that often."

That was a shame. Toby was enjoying watching Elliot move his bulk through the Mulberry Street crowd, tense in the sea of people and restaurant hawkers. His eyes were playing over the crowd as thought it might get out of control at any moment. Toby's eyes were playing over Elliot.

By pure appearance it could have been Chris prowling through the cafeteria, wary of Aryans, but this was a crowd of hungry New Yorkers and tourists making the most of the April warmth, and Elliot would quell trouble, not escalate it. That was the upside of hooking up with the domesticated twin. On the other hand, at no point tonight was Toby going to be dragged into a semi-private corner and groped. That was the downside.

Toby still didn't understand what was going through Elliot's head. Men wanted their dicks sucked. Elliot wasn't even sure he wanted a hand job, but he did want to make out with a cock slut. Maybe he really was just confused and lonely. Maybe he sensed Toby would give up that intimacy as easily as any other.

Tonight was just dinner, squeezed between Elliot's work and Toby's alcohol counselling. It had been almost two weeks since Toby got Elliot's shirt off and catalogued all the missing scars. No bullet wound in his shoulder, though there was something similar by Elliot's elbow. No raised white lines from two quick jabs in a dark supply room. Instead there was a line around where his appendix would have been and a few marks with histories Toby didn't know. 

There'd been a moment that night, after Elliot found the place where Vern shanked him. Elliot had spread his hand to cover the scar and leaned in to press their lips like some perfect echo, his other hand reaching around to pull Toby close and Toby had been transported back.

New Year's Eve, 1999. Their second kiss. When Toby knew what Chris was and chose him anyway, when Chris pressed his hand where he'd stemmed the bleeding only days before, and for the second time in a week, Toby put his life in Chris's hands. For just a minute or two it had been that perfect deja vu Toby had been waiting for.

Toby still didn't know if his moment of panic was because Chris's presence was too intense, or just a wave of belated guilt for using Elliot. He didn't know why he suddenly had to push things further, to escape the replay by getting Elliot horizontal. The spell wasn't broken until he felt Elliot tense under his groping and remembered this was a good guy, supposedly Toby's friend, out of his depth.

So Toby had just gone back to kissing him, trying to teach him to kiss the way Chris had kissed.

There'd been another moment, later, when Toby rolled those tight brown nipples with his thumbs, flicked them the way Chris used to like, listened for that familiar growl, but Elliot pressed his hands flat and guided them away. 

That hulking body wasn't Chris, as much as Toby wished he could fuck him like he was. It would have been the perfect mix: Elliot to live in the world with a responsible job, to come over and eat gnocchi with Holly; Chris in the sack, uninhibited and insatiable and unashamedly in love with Toby.

Elliot cut across the street and threw, "This is the one," over his shoulder, darting into a cafe Toby could have fitted into his bedroom. "Yuppie salads, right up your alley."

They shuffled into a table built for two much smaller people. "Isn't it too yuppie for you?"

"Food's damned good."

A waitress filled their water glasses and took their orders and rushed off.

"Is that Alan Alda?"

Elliot glanced over his shoulder. "I think that's why Maureen loves the place. It's a celebrity hang-out. I like the chicken satay."

They'd both been caught up for a couple of weeks with work and family, Toby living off the memory of almost having what he wanted. He wouldn't have minded another chance to peel Elliot's clothes off, but this was strangely relieving, to let Chris recede, have a meal out and time to enjoy Elliot for being Elliot. "You were working down this end of town?"

Elliot snorted. "That was one for the books. We've been investigating allegations of sexual assault at a nursing home."

"In a nursing home? And I thought I'd seen some screwed-up shit."

"It's more common than you'd think. A couple of the clients' kids were raising hell, but in this case, it turns out it was all consensual."

"All?"

"They were celebrating someone's eighty-seventh birthday with an orgy."

"An orgy?" Toby grinned. "How many retirees make an orgy?"

"In their case, seven. Five men, a couple of women. Youngest was sixty-eight. The oldest was ninety-six."

"Viagra?"

"Viagra, needles, penis pumps, the works."

"Hope I'm living that kind of life when I'm ninety."

Elliot laughed. "One of the old guys said to me, 'Detective, I've lived nearly a century and I'd never tried sex with a man. Doesn't that seem a damned shame?'"

"What did you say?"

"I asked him if it was everything he hoped. He said 'Son, don't listen to the wowsers. A man should try everything once. Or maybe twice.' I told him I'd put it on my bucket list."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Are you sure you don't want to do this part?"

"You wanted to learn; you're cooking this. I'm just enjoying the show."

Elliot grimaced as he rubbed the oil and spices into the pork fat with his bare hands.

Toby chuckled. "Didn't pick you for squeamish."

Now wasn't the time to be pointing out what sorts of things Elliot had seen in his line of work, so he just said, "It's slimy. You know they're not going to believe I cooked this anyway."

"Leave them the dishes as evidence." He slipped behind Elliot and murmured against his neck. "It's not reiki, Elliot. You've got to rub the salt right into all those score marks. Use those manly hands of yours."

Elliot snorted, but he worked the leg harder. "Good enough?"

Toby's voice dropped a little lower. "Delicious." Elliot turned his head and caught Toby's lips in a kiss. He liked this: being all domestic with Toby. Everything on simmer while they worked. At least, Elliot worked: Toby was supervising.

The kitchen was already warm from the heating oven and the steam off the vegetables, making Elliot's t-shirt stick to his skin and Toby's hair fall across his eyes. Toby had grumbled about starting the vegetables this soon, but they had to get as much of this project out of the way as they could before Toby abandoned him.

The stuffing was inside, and Elliot was grateful that part was over so he didn't have to put up with any more of Toby's smirking as he worked the toast-and-herb mix into the cavity with his fingers.

Elliot wiped his hands off on a towel and turned to find they were nose-to-nose. "What next?"

Toby's tongue tripped over his lips. "Chop a couple of onions, a couple of apples, a few carrots, break up a garlic, throw them in the tray with your rosemary and bay leaves, stir it up."

"Dickie hates apples."

"Don't tell him they were in there. He won't notice the taste; they just keep your meat moist."

Elliot was starting to wonder if Toby had been sitting around with the recipe ever since they had this idea, jotting down double-entendres to make Elliot squirm. But while there'd been plenty of squirming, there'd been no pushing. Toby hadn't given him anything but lusty looks; even the passing kisses had been instigated by Elliot. Elliot instigated another one, slow and deep, until Toby batted him away. "I'm still not doing your chopping for you."

Elliot grinned, and headed for the chopping board. Toby's easy indifference just made Elliot want to kiss him more; maybe want to try pushing a little further. Toby knew a thing or two about making someone feel safe. Elliot was glad his back was to Toby as his grin evaporated. Had he always been that way, or was it the lingering residue of what happened to him in prison making him sensitive to Elliot's nerves? Maybe Chris taught him. Chris must have had some kind of magical touch, to draw Toby out after he was raped.

Elliot had been thinking a lot about Chris: who he was, what he did for Toby. Elliot had come close to pulling his file a few times, but he needed to prove he wasn't a total brute. He'd been proud of his self control for not pulling Toby's, but that was nothing on the temptation of digging up a last name for Chris and pulling his. What was he in for? What kind of man did Toby find in a maximum security prison to make him feel safe?

"You really enjoy cooking, don't you?" Talking about cooking, when he really wanted to ask if Chris was a white collar guy out of his depth like Toby, or if he had connections to protect him. Mob connections, maybe, to put a contract on the man who kidnapped Gary and Holly? Toby said they saved each other. Did he save Toby from his rapist?

"Cooking makes me feel like a human."

Elliot tuned back in. "Like a human?"

Toby stole a piece of carrot and started crunching. "I've come to appreciate all the household chores I used to blow off for Gen or the maid, but especially cooking. The power to take care of myself, the freedom to choose what I'm going to eat. Cooking makes the walls go away."

Elliot stepped over and kissed him again, deepened it when Toby started to move back. He hoped he made a difference with those walls.

"Mind where you're waving that knife."

He still had a knife in one hand, carrot in the other. And now he was thinking about that stab wound in Toby's back. And now he was trying not to think about the heroin addiction. He wished he could shove that one back in its box.

Toby wandered out of the kitchen to look around Elliot's depressingly bare apartment. Straight to the photos. He picked up an old family shot. "That's Kathy?"

"Yeah."

"She's pretty."

Elliot didn't want to talk about Kathy with Toby. "If this tastes half as good as what was in those sandwiches the other day-"

"This will taste better."

Elliot started on the apples. "You cook like this all the time?"

"It beats drinking as a hobby." He picked up another photo. "We don't cook seriously every day. Two or three times a week. We make sure there are leftovers."

Elliot tried to pay attention to what he was chopping. He wondered if he could ask. Toby seemed to be feeling open today. "Do you miss it?"

"Cooking?"

"Drinking."

"I don't miss being a drunk." He wandered back in and leaned against the counter. "A good drink though... Or drinks after work with colleagues..."

Elliot could understand that. He enjoyed a beer with Munch and Finn and Olivia, a reminder that they had outside lives. Not that you'd know, from how many invitations he'd been turning down lately. "Have you been sober since that night with me?"

"Yes."

"And before that..."

"Seven and a half years. I found plenty of other vices along the way. Cut the onions rough."

Elliot wanted to ask, or comment, something, but Toby wasn't meeting his eyes so he finished chopping the vegetables and put them aside to wait, wiped his hands clean. He should ask if Toby missed drugs as well, but he was afraid to hear the answer.

Toby picked up the pad Elliot had written his gravy instructions on. "This all makes sense?"

"Yeah, I can follow that." Toby broke seven years of sobriety just because he wanted to see Elliot. Maybe Elliot wasn't alone, out on this limb. He tugged Toby a little closer, rested his hands on his waist. "Guess that's done."

"Then I should probably be going."

Elliot really didn't want him to go. "We've got time. Kids won't be here until six."

Toby ran his hands up Elliot's arms and back down again. "Yeah, but you need to take a shower. You're all sticky."

"There's time for that, too."

"You have to put those vegetables in in forty minutes. I didn't spend all afternoon mentoring you just for you to serve up raw potatoes."

Toby would leave right now, patient to let Elliot set whatever pace he needed. Elliot wanted a little more.

Toby's eyes turned curious when Elliot didn't joke back, seemed to read this just right as they dropped to Elliot's mouth. Elliot slid a hand to the small of his back and pulled until he felt Toby's cock press against his own for the very first time. It felt like lightning. Elliot gasped and Toby took advantage, opening his mouth over Elliot's and flicking his tongue inside, slow and sexy. As they kissed, Elliot let his hand slide over Toby's belt and down to cover the curve of his ass, just to prove this wasn't an accident. He was ready for this. Their hips rocked, cock sliding against cock, and it felt so fucking good, Elliot couldn't believe he'd waited so long. His cock had been heavy for most of the afternoon but now it was pressing against his zip, and Toby's cock was pressing back, hard for Elliot.

A moan escaped and Toby breathed hard into his mouth, and Elliot could taste how much Toby wanted him, all the need he'd been holding back so Elliot wouldn't feel pressured. Elliot covered the hand Toby was resting on his hip and pulled it down, back to his ass. Fingers sank in and pulled him tighter, Toby's tongue sliding deeper, their cocks pressed harder and Elliot moaned again. He'd been a fool to be afraid of this. Of what? Getting hard for Toby? Finding out Toby's cock got hard for him? He wanted to bring his hand around to cup Toby's cock through his pants, get to know the size and shape of him. Make Toby feel good. Hell yes, he was ready to go further. 

But not now, rushing through before he threw Toby out to get ready for his family.

He rubbed Toby's ass and broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. "Maybe I shouldn't have started this now."

Toby smiled. "Tried to tell you." 

"Have I told you how much you turn me on?"

"It hasn't come up."

"It's come up, all right." Elliot gave a little thrust.

Toby huffed a laugh, surprised. "Elliot Stabler, I'm scandalised." He pulled away and grabbed one last piece of apple. "Come on. Take me to the train."

Elliot washed his hands and quietly adjusted himself in his pants, and then picked up his keys and wallet. "This feels stupid, driving you to the station like one of the kids."

"The train's good enough for them."

Yeah, but they were kids. Toby was no kid. "Don't you think it's time you got yourself a car?"

"No." Toby turned off the oven. "Don't forget to turn it back on when you get back."

Elliot led the way out the door. "It would be easier coming here if you drove."

The door shut extra hard behind them, and Elliot looked back. Toby's face was set. "Harder to explain to your kids."

"My kids aren't the reason why you don't drive." Even if, yes, that was one reason Elliot preferred to meet at Toby's. He unlocked the car and paused as Toby circled around. "Seriously, Toby. A grown man should be able to fix a toilet, barbecue a steak and drive a car."

Toby opened his door and climbed in, staring stone-faced ahead as Elliot sat beside him. "You watch a nine year-old and her bike crash across your windshield and see how eager you are to get back behind the wheel." 

Elliot shut his mouth.

"I served my time. And now I'm out, and walking free, and the girl I killed is still dead. There's no way to measure justice, if what I've been through is a fair price for what I did to that girl and her parents. But I'm not going to get back behind the wheel just because it's convenient for me."

Elliot floundered, feeling like a tool. It was easy for him to forget what Toby had done, to turn Oz into something that happened to Toby. Toby never forgot. "I'm sorry."

"You had nothing to do with it." Toby jerked on his seatbelt, and Elliot followed. Toby didn't want comfort, and it didn't seem right to change the subject. And so it was silent in the car until Elliot pulled up at the kerb at Floral Park.

He reached across to touch Toby's leg before he could climb out, and leave things this way. "Thanks for today."

Toby nodded, softening.

"When will I see you again?"

"You've got the kids all weekend?"

"Twins are staying until Sunday night. Are you...?"

"Holly comes home Sunday night."

Elliot growled in frustration. He was finally ready to get somewhere, and the universe was conspiring against them.

"Come visit during the week anyway. Have dinner with Holly and me. We may not get to pick up where we left off this afternoon, but I still want to see you."

"Sure."

Toby started to climb out, hesitated. "Don't look so grim, Elliot. You'll have plenty of opportunities to grope my ass."

Elliot grinned. "I'll look forward to it."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby laid his book aside and rubbed his eyes, wondering if it was okay to go to bed yet, or if it still counted as shamefully early.

He'd jerked off as soon as he got home.

Elliot just had no idea. He knew he could pull the charm when he wanted it, but he had no idea how delicious he was puttering around his kitchen, dressed down in a t-shirt, working up a sweat grinding spices. So unlike Chris, whose every breath was for show. Even when he was brushing his teeth, Chris never doubted your eyes were on his ass. Somehow Elliot seemed startled every time he caught Toby's eyes wandering. 

Toby had never done anything like cooking with Chris. They'd fucked, they'd fought, they'd plotted and schemed... He supposed the couple of times they'd done laundry together was the closest they'd come to feeling like a couple, rather than lovers. For the first time tonight, Toby had watched Elliot and thought of Gen, instead of Chris. Toby and Gen had had a lot of their conversations in the kitchen as she cooked: Toby fresh home from work, still in his shirt and tie as they discussed her parents' upcoming visit, or whether they should sign Gary up for music or sports.

Before the kids, Toby and Gen had fucked a couple of times in there as well, usually starting with Toby tugging her around to grind his hard-on against her.

Had Elliot noticed this was becoming some kind of relationship? Toby hadn't seen it coming at all.

He didn't know how he felt about that, but there was definitely something to be said for moving glacially slow, because Toby had been halfway to coming when Elliot ground against him, the first feel Toby had had of the cock he'd been craving for months.

The phone rang, and Toby made himself wait a couple of rings before he picked it up. Whatever the reason for Elliot to call, it wasn't to tell Toby he was coming back over to give him a taste of his cock. "Shouldn't you be busy?" He could hear the kids in the background, talking over each other, and he swallowed the spark of envy for Elliot's big, happy family.

Elliot's voice was quiet. "Just wanted to let you know it was a complete success. I had to break up a fight over the last piece of crackling."

"Do they think you're a pod person?"

"Kathleen asked if I arrested Julia Child this week."

Toby smiled. "You didn't have to call."

"Yeah, I did."

"Dad!"

"So I just wanted to say thanks."

"No problem. See you next week?"

"Of course."

"Have fun with the kids."

Yeah. Maybe this was a relationship. Maybe Toby didn't mind.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby watched Elliot and Holly pack up the game tiles. They'd wiped the floor with him again.

She'd pulled out that word game as soon as Toby said Elliot was coming over, and two minutes after he came through the door, she'd been asking if they could play later. He probably had no idea how rare it was for her to chatter with men she barely knew. This was what Toby needed: another night where Elliot felt like Elliot, fatherly and cheerful and at ease. It was good for Holly, good for Toby. It seemed good for Elliot.

"No more lingering, Hol. It's bedtime."

"Okay. Goodnight Elliot."

"Goodnight Holly. Thanks for the game."

Holly hugged Toby hard, and he kissed her on the cheek. "No more than an hour of reading, Hol. I can't be sending a zombie to school."

"Sure, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too."

He made a mental note to check on her as she wandered off to her room. And then he turned to find Elliot looking at his phone again.

"Is everything all right?"

Elliot put his phone down. "What?"

"You've been checking that thing all night."

"I'm sorry."

"I wasn't complaining. I was asking if everything's okay."

"I was hoping Liv would call. It was a shitty day for her."

"Tough case?"

Elliot picked out his words. "It got personal." That was as much as he was going to divulge. He glared at his phone. "She's freezing me out."

"Why don't you call her?"

He looked honestly surprised, like it had never occurred to him to check on his upset partner. "She'll call me if she wants to talk."

"Maybe she won't, if she thinks she's interrupting something."

"Why would she?"

Right. She probably wouldn't. "Do you two talk about anything?"

"Sure we do."

Toby waited, but Elliot didn't offer any examples. "Where does she think you are tonight?"

"I don't know. Home, I guess?"

Toby sat forward. "Great. You wonder why Olivia won't talk to you about whatever emotional roller coaster she's on, but you won't even tell her you had a date." They both blinked at the word, but it was what this was.

"Hang on. Are you upset I didn't tell her I was coming here?"

"I'm not upset."

Elliot stared, disbelieving.

Toby stood. "Just call your damned partner." He went to the kitchen, hoping that would circumvent the argument. As he started unloading the dishwasher, he was glad to hear Elliot's voice, a gentle tone he'd heard a few times himself. 

"Just wondering how you're doing." He was quiet a moment. "Didn't seem that way to me."

Elliot was a guy you trusted when he sounded like that. Toby realised he'd stopped moving to eavesdrop, and forced himself back to work.

 

It was a long call. Toby had time to clear and clean the kitchen before Elliot went quiet. Toby moved to the doorway. "How is she?"

"She'll be fine." Elliot chewed on his next words, and then he glanced towards Holly's bedroom and walked closer. "I'm not ashamed of you."

Toby doubted that was true, but it wasn't what he cared about right now. "Do you ever mention me to her?" Elliot didn't answer. Of course he didn't. "You trusted her enough to kiss me in front of her."

"That was an accident."

"Great."

Elliot bristled. "I thought you were okay with just... seeing how this went."

"That's not... It's not about me." Of course that was what he thought. Toby wished he knew how to say this without sounding like the scorned boyfriend. "I wasn't expecting you to have a coming out party in the squad room. I can't imagine you'd brag about it if you were dating a swimsuit model."

"Then what is this about? What is it you want me to tell her?"

"Something. Anything that's going on in your life. The things you can't tell me. You don't have to tell her all about your big gay crisis. I'd be impressed if you casually mentioned you kicked my ass at a board game tonight."

Elliot winced at the 'big gay crisis' line. "I'm not like you, Toby. I can't just spill my innermost thoughts and all my secrets for anyone who'll listen."

Toby snorted. "I can promise you're never going to hear all my secrets. And I'm not telling you to lay your soul bare. She'd probably die from shock. I'm saying if you want her trust, you have to give her something more. Tell her something about your life that matters."

Elliot looked up. "I told her I was attracted to you."

Toby blinked. "Yeah?"

"Before I kissed you."

Toby slouched back against the door jamb. "Really?"

"I mean... I told her there was something going on. A connection."

Toby wondered what she'd thought of that. Elliot connecting with an ex-con slut. "She must have been horrified."

A tiny smile fought its way onto his face. "She was concerned. More about my big... crisis than about you."

"I guess I take it back. You do tell her more than I give you credit for."

"Not as much as I should." Elliot slid his hands in his pockets. "I don't find it as easy to talk to other people as I find it with you. The things I can't tell you, Toby... That's the stuff that's too hard to tell anybody."

Toby didn't understand why Elliot had latched onto him - maybe because he knew Toby was in no position to judge anybody? - but he knew it was true. "I get it. And seriously - I'm not asking you to tell people about your big... crisis." Toby cocked an eyebrow. "You don't need to prove anything to me, and you're definitely better off keeping me quiet. I'm just saying you should trust the people you trust." Olivia was going to be around long after Elliot's 'connection' to Toby fizzled out or blew up or whatever the hell was going to happen, happened.

"Yeah." Toby could see it all circling in the back of Elliot's mind, saw the moment it was all pushed aside before Elliot crossed the doorway, put a hand on Toby's chest and gently pushed him backwards into the kitchen.

"What-"

"You probably don't want me to do this out there." Elliot pressed him against the counter and kissed him, a whole lot more confident than the last time they were here. "I'll need to head home soon, but I've been waiting all night for this." He kissed Toby again, with a bite of hunger and hands kneading Toby's arms.


	15. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 14:  
> As Toby and Elliot wandered Little Italy, Toby pondered the pros and cons of Elliot vs Chris, and Elliot talked about the day's senior citizen orgy. Toby taught Elliot how to make a pork roast with a simmering side of UST. Elliot was becoming more at ease with the potential for penis-touching, but there was no time. There was, however, time for Elliot to put his foot in it when he nagged Toby to get a car. After their next dinner, Toby nagged Elliot to try building some more trust with Olivia.

They'd discussed the miserable April weather, Olivia's idle thoughts about moving further uptown, and a comparison of the men's and women's bathrooms at the station, and the conversation had already drifted off. 

Elliot checked his watch: just over one hour down. He picked up his coffee, realised it was cold and put it back on the dash.

Olivia lifted the radio. "Don't suppose you've got any action over that end?"

"Not even a mouse," John's voice crackled back. "Anyone want to play 'I spy'?"

"No," snapped Finn in the background, and the radio went quiet.

"Gonna be a long night," said Elliot.

"Want to play 'I spy'?" asked Olivia.

"No." He reached over the back and dug out his sandwich, peeled back the foil.

Olivia's mouth quirked. "Pork sandwiches again? That deli know you by name, yet?"

"These are my leftovers. I made a roast for the kids the other night."

That got a full smile. "You cooked a roast?"

All right. Here was an opening. Toby was wrong: Elliot could talk about things. "Toby's teaching me. He's a hell of a cook."

Only a blink gave away her surprise. "You're still..."

"Yeah." He wondered what she'd been thinking: if she thought he'd run a mile after kissing Toby, or that whatever happened would have been a spectacular failure. He had to give her credit for not digging these past few weeks, when the curiosity must have been killing her. Now he knew she was considering how to get him to give up details without putting him off, so he cut her a break. "I've been seen him a few times."

Olivia let that roll around in her head, picking her next question carefully. "Is it serious?"

It wasn't meant to be. It was supposed to be testing a few boundaries, no guarantees. And still, it wasn't like Elliot was about to introduce Toby to his family, or start bringing him flowers. "I don't know." Sometimes it seemed like it was. Sometimes this whole situation seemed ridiculous. "He's a guy."

"I noticed."

Elliot struggled for something else to say. He hoped Toby didn't expect him to tell Olivia how it felt playing games with Holly last night, watching her giggle and tease like an ordinary girl when for Elliot all the ugly details of her abduction and her brother's murder were still fresh and raw. Toby said he'd be impressed by mentioning that he visited, so he could just leave it at this.

"I'm glad you told me." She gave him a small smile. "What's it like?"

The dating part was like... going out with a woman, Elliot supposed, except for Elliot being completely hung up about sex. He was hardly going to explain that to Olivia. "Toby's obsessed with talking out feelings. It's like dating Huang." He shuddered at that idea.

She chuckled.

The talking was good for him. Kathy had given up pushing a long time ago. As soon as he thought it, a dozen arguments came to mind. No, she didn't stop pushing. Elliot just stopped giving in. "You want to share my sandwich? It's good."

"I wouldn't miss a chance to taste Elliot Stabler's foray into serious cooking."

Elliot took half for himself and passed her the rest in the foil.

She took a bite and nodded, impressed. Toby was right - he did feel good about talking to Liv.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The scents of tomato and baking cheese rolled out as Toby opened the door, and Elliot swayed on his feet. "That's the best thing I've ever smelled in my life."

Toby caught his sleeve to tug him inside, sliding Elliot's jacket off as he passed. "Holly and I had spaghetti and meat sauce last night, so I used the leftovers to throw together a lasagne. You don't look like you'll be awake long enough to eat it."

"It may be all that keeps me awake that long." It was only Toby's double-take that made Elliot remember he still had his gun. He usually left it at work when he came to Toby's, but today he hadn't even thought of it. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"Holly's not home?" He knew she wasn't, but he had to check.

"No."

Elliot slid off his holster and dug out the trigger lock he'd been carrying lately, locked it down and piled it on a side table, threw his jacket over it. It wasn't regulation security but Elliot was too tired to give a damn. Toby wasn't about to go running off with his gun. Finally he collapsed on the couch, wincing at the twinge in his stomach, and dragging off his tie.

"Long day?"

"Got called in at four am." A dead five year-old boy, scarred from years of abuse, dumped like trash. "Chased a perp most of a mile only to find out he was running because he thought we were there about a stolen bicycle. Took a punch in the gut from a father who took exception to my questions." He had to be exhausted, to be running off about his day like this.

"Are you hurt?"

Elliot shrugged it off. "He weighed a hundred and forty pounds. Can't blame him. If someone asked me those questions about my kids..." He hated that part of the job. You had to start with the parents, and until you were done you didn't know if you were cutting straight to the heart of the case or piling more trauma on good people. Today it had been piling trauma. "I didn't have time for lunch, but the day didn't get any better after whenever that was supposed to happen."

Toby sat on the coffee table in front of him. "Dinner's going to be half an hour. I was going to suggest a quick grope, but I won't judge if you want to nap."

A nap sounded incredible. Closing his eyes was like a siren call, but- "I just got here."

Toby reached over to give him a reassuring pat on his leg. "I'd rather you take a quick one now than face plant in my cooking. Go on, pass out. I'll wake you up when there's food."

He picked Elliot's tie up off the floor and hung it over his jacket, headed off to his bedroom before Elliot could manage any more protests, and Elliot closed his eyes gratefully.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mmm. Kiss. Long time since Kathy woke him with a kiss. Elliot missed her. He didn't open his eyes, but the smile pulling across his face probably gave him away.

It wasn't Kathy. Kathy was gone. Elliot's gut clenched.

Toby had kissed him. He was on Toby's couch. Elliot forced his eyes open to find Toby leaning over him, and managed a groggy 'Mmph.' He wanted Kathy to slide in and wrap her arms around him, wanted to bury his face in her hair and smell her.

"I'm just dishing up now, if you want to go wash your hands and face."

Elliot just wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep. Maybe then he'd wake up knowing where he was and who he was with. Guilt squeezed his gut.

Now he could smell hot cheese, and his stomach growled. And here was Toby, waiting for him. Toby wasn't such a bad way to wake up. It had been a long time since Kathy woke him that way. "'ll right."

Toby kissed him again. "You're sexy when you're asleep."

Elliot huffed, and rubbed his eyes, and dragged himself to his feet. His gut twinged, and he rubbed it as he shuffled to the bathroom. The nap had left him dopey, but hunger was beating out the urge to fall back on the couch. Dinner smelled great. 

A long piss and then cold water over his face made him feel a little more human. He wiped his face dry on Toby's towel. Someone's father had punched him in the stomach, face contorted in poisonous rage. That was why his gut hurt.

As he got his bearings his day started trickling back. Braden's body. Warner's bitter report. Combing through a paedophile's prize collection of happy snaps until Olivia caught him starting to nod.

Elliot wished he'd never woken. At least he hadn't dreamed. With the shit filling his head today, it wouldn't have been pleasant.

When Elliot came out Toby was taking hot plates out of the oven. He dumped them on the counter and flicked the dishtowel over his shoulder and waved his hand to cool it off. "Feeling better?" He wouldn't be so irritatingly cheerful if Elliot told him about the tiny body he'd studied today.

Hair the same colour as Toby's son. Jesus. He wished he hadn't thought of that.

"Elliot?"

"I'm fine."

While Toby dished up, Elliot pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge, dug out the forks. Felt Toby press up behind him, hands sliding over his hips. "I've been looking forward to picking up where we left off after our cooking lesson."

The purring words and the erection pressing against Elliot's ass left him cold. He shifted away and headed for the table. Today clung to his skin like a sticky film. A splash of water over his face wasn't enough; he wanted to shower, scrub himself raw, crouch on the tiles and let the water run over him.

Toby laid the lasagne in the centre of the table and stripped off his mitts to catch Elliot's belt and tug him closer, and this time he got the message when Elliot reared back. Kathy used to get the same look on her face when he didn't want to touch her. In the early years of SVU, anyway. She'd learned to stop taking it personally a long time ago.

"Is everything okay?"

"Do you have to?" For Toby this was just a long campaign for something Elliot probably didn't want, and right now even the idea of it made Elliot's stomach roll. 

Toby's face closed. "No, I don't have to."

He stalked back to the kitchen for the plates, and Elliot gripped the back of the chair. This wasn't about Toby.

Toby came back and dropped the plates, just the slightest bit harder than he needed to, took a step towards the kitchen and swung around. "Are we back to pretending you don't want me to touch your cock?"

Did Elliot really want to replay scenes from his marriage with Toby? He took a slow breath in. He was pissed at the world, not at Toby, who didn't have a fucking clue what Elliot waded through today. "Sorry." Elliot had ruined his relationship with Kathy the way he closed himself off. He was the one who stopped letting her help. He had to do better this time.

"I'm not pushing you into anything. You're the one who-"

"I spent the last four hours staring through kiddie porn."

"Oh." Toby waited, obviously trying to figure out what Elliot needed. Elliot didn't know what he needed. He needed fathers to protect their children. He needed husbands to stop abusing their wives. He needed defence attorneys to care more about justice than the law.

"My skin's crawling."

Toby stood, helpless, and Elliot felt bad for bringing this here. Kathy had learned to give him his space when he was like this. Keep out of his way, leave him to lift weights or beat the punching bag until exhaustion took him to bed, and then she'd slide in and mould herself around him. When he woke in the night, she'd be there. What was Toby supposed to do?

Toby gathered a breath like he was about to speak, let it go. Shifted his feet and considered and finally asked, "You're still hungry, right?"

"Starving. I had a coffee for breakfast."

"Then let's feed you."

"I'm sorry I can't..."

"Let's just eat." He said it gently, and Elliot decided to take it as kindness, rather than irritation.

They sat down, and Elliot put a forkful of lasagne in his mouth, and paused. "Wow, Toby."

"Real bechamel sauce. These days people just dump ricotta in there instead, as if they're prison cooks on a budget. That's not lasagne."

They ate in silence, good food slowly softening the edges of Elliot's mood, stilling the churning in his gut. He could do better than this. He sipped his soda, tried to think about what was going on in Toby's life. "Isn't Harry coming this weekend?"

"Yeah."

It was Mothers' Day, so Kathy had their kids all weekend. "What are your plans?"

"I mailed him a city guide, told him to circle whatever he wanted to see, and we'd pack in as much as we could."

"Just the three of you?"

"That's right. Before this, every visit has been a family event. We stay at Mother's, sometimes Angus and his family stay too. I feel like I have to share him. This time, I've put my foot down. It's going to be my kids and me."

"That's great, Toby. Is Holly excited?"

"I suppose. She hasn't said much, but she's pretty wrapped up in the last weeks of school."

"How's she feeling about middle school in September?"

"Almost as nervous as me. We did a tour of St Edith's yesterday, so she's feeling a little better about it. She was excited when she saw the art rooms."

Toby let Elliot keep the conversation on Holly as they cleared the table, so when it petered off, he admitted, "It was a bad day."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Elliot shrugged. "Make me a lasagne and let me talk about other stuff for a while."

Toby's arms slid around him and Elliot latched on, leaned in to Toby's weight. He felt different from Kathy and that was all right. Toby was strong, he knew about the stuff Elliot had protected Kathy from and he smelled good in his own way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby turned the page in Harry's New York guide book. "So we can tick off Central Park and the Museum of Natural History. What do you want to see in Times Square tomorrow?"

Harry shrugged, head hanging so all Toby could see was dark hair.

Toby put a hand on his shoulder, not sure if it was welcome but he'd finally got Holly to bury her nose in a book to get her quiet while he sat with Harry at the table, carefully positioned between them, and he was grasping for any connection he could before they started sniping at each other again. "You've circled Toys R Us and Hershey's. How about M&Ms World?"

"Okay."

Ripley's was circled of course. Two-headed calves and shrunken heads: Toby was going to have to keep Holly close through that one. "So we'll spend the day at Times Square, and then you wanted to go up the Empire State Building? Holly loves the Empire State Building, don't you Holly?"

Holly didn't look up. "We went there two weeks ago."

"Then maybe you can point out some of the sights for Harry. You know more of this city than I do."

"I don't want her to," said Harry.

Holly narrowed her eyes at Harry. "Hershey's at Times Square is stupid. It's just a shop."

Toby took a deep breath. He'd wanted five minutes of peace. He should have left Holly to her book.

"Hol, Harry's only got one weekend here, so-"

"I don't care what she says. She's an idiot!"

"Harry!"

"You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"Holly!"

"Dad said we could do what I want!"

Holly threw down her book, poised on the couch like she was ready to spring over the arm, claws out. "Why do I have to spend another day doing baby things?"

"Holly!"

"I'm not a baby! You're a baby! I wanted to go to Coney Island but I can't because you're a scaredy cat!"

"Harry!"

Holly jumped to her feet, finally in tears. "Why don't you go home to your own family instead of stealing mine!"

"Stop it, the pair of you!"

Harry shrugged off Toby's hand, standing as well. "I didn't even want to come to stupid New York! It's cold and I miss my friends and I hate you both!"

"Go to your rooms!"

Harry whirled on Toby. "I don't have a room! I hate it here and I want to go home to Nan and Pop!"

"Go home to San Diego!" Holly yelled. "Don't come back!"

"Shut up! Shut up, the pair of you! Another fucking word-" Toby almost choked on the filthy taste of rage, his blood pounding with fury at his own children. What had he become? He tried to force his voice down but it was still too loud as he snapped, "Holly, to your room right now! Harry, to my room! Nobody speaks until we've all calmed down!" 

"Dad!"

"Get out!"

They both ran out, sobbing through slammed doors, and Toby stood at the table, shaking. He hadn't used that dangerous tone in years. Two years. And then he'd been wielding it at grown men.

He wanted to tear the room apart. He wanted the hacks to storm in and give him someone to fight, hacks to subdue him and throw him in the Hole, where he couldn't be seen or touched. Where he could wish all he wanted for a jar of 90-proof moonshine, but he couldn't flee downstairs and across the street to the package store.

He held still, trying to remember how he kept himself calm when this kind of helpless violence was beating in his veins. 

Toby didn't want to be the adult in the house. He didn't know how. He was fucking this up. Who was he supposed to talk to first? He didn't know what to say, where to start. He wanted to throw things, hear them smash, and then drink himself into oblivion.

Harry was happy in San Diego. He was happy with Gen's parents, and Toby was selfishly fucking it all up. Harry hated him.

And Holly. This vicious stranger! Where was his timid, gentle daughter, who couldn't be prised from his side no matter how far he fell?

He could hear them both crying, and he was paralysed. What the fuck made him think he could stumble out of eight years in that pit and make himself a father?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby held off unwrapping his sandwich. The sun was warm, the park was quiet, and he had a bench to himself. He'd been proud of himself for putting off calling Elliot this long. He hadn't wanted to call him from the office. Even if Elliot could only spare ninety seconds of his friendly voice, Toby would take it.

"Toby, hey."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, you're timing's perfect as long as you don't mind the sound of me chewing. Liv's insisting I need to eat a meal at least once a day."

"Are you still caught up in that shooting case?" Toby could tell he was at the precinct by the background noise.

"Three steps forward, two steps back. I'd rather hear about Harry's visit."

Toby didn't want to talk about that at all. Holly had refused to come to JFK, which ended up being a relief because it gave Toby a couple of hours alone with Harry, and he managed to at least undo enough damage that Harry gave him a solid hug goodbye. "It was good. We did Times Square, the Empire State Building, all the usual stuff."

"Toys R Us and the Hershey's store?"

"Of course." Toby grimaced at the pigeons gathering hopefully around his feet.

They only managed a few minutes before Elliot got called off to the lab, but Toby felt a lot better for the chat. Elliot thought Toby's relationship with Holly was some kind of miracle. He didn't need to know she hadn't said a word to him since yesterday when she lifted her head off the pillow long enough to snarl that she wasn't going to the stupid airport.

As Toby hung up the missed call icon caught his eye. Jonah had called while he was chatting with Elliot. Toby's lifted mood slithered away, along with his appetite. He dialled back before he could start making excuses to put it off.

"Jonah, hello."

"Toby, what happened? When we met Harrison at the airport he burst into tears and swore he was never going back."

Fire burned at the back of Toby's throat. So much for undoing the damage. "It was a disaster from start to finish. He and Holly fought all weekend."

There was a long sigh. "I know it's hard for you, making up for everything that's happened, but you have to do something about Holly's behaviour. Harrison's still up in his room."

"Holly's usually the best-behaved kid you'll meet."

"Did she tell Harrison he wasn't family? That he wasn't welcome in your house?"

Both of those things. Emphatically. "Believe me, Jonah, Harry gave as good as he got." He'd told Holly she was spoiled and a chicken and had no friends, and the way that last one had hit her, Toby was going to have to dig into how she was doing socially at school.

"Handling them is a father's job."

"I know that." Toby unwrapped a corner of his sandwich and threw a couple of crumbs on the ground, watched the pigeons gather like prisoners around a dealer.

"Spoiling the children doesn't solve-"

"Spoiling them? Jonah, I'm not-"

"A Nintendo DS?"

"I bought him a game and a few t-shirts. What's so terrible about that?"

"We don't allow those toys in our house."

Toby's fingers tightened on the phone. "You're telling me I can't buy my own son Super Mario Bros?"

He could almost see Jonah shifting in his chair, reaching for patience. "It's not like that Toby. I wish you'd spoken to us first. We've been telling Harrison for months that he can't have one, and now we look foolish."

Toby hated the reasonable voice. It was easier when Jonah was being an ass. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to subvert you; I just wanted him to have something fun out of this trip."

"You can't buy him off for Holly's cruelty."

"That's not what I was doing."

There was a long silence. "Now we're stuck with it. We can hardly confiscate it when he's already in a state over how he was treated."

Toby kicked his foot to scatter the fucking pigeons away, but he kept a hold on his tone. "You can't confiscate it. I gave it to him."

"Toby-"

"I'm not some irresponsible uncle, Jonah; I'm his father."

"And Marta and I are the ones raising him every day, with our values. Genevieve's values. You can't just waltz in and undermine us when it suits you. You have to understand that does your relationship with him no service, either."

Toby rubbed his face. He knew where Jonah was coming from. That didn't mean he liked it. "So restrict its use to an hour after his homework is done, but don't demean the connection I'm building. We spent Saturday afternoon figuring out how to play it together, and it was the best part of this whole wretched weekend. You have windsailing and school activities and helping with his homework. Let me have this."

"Fine. But Toby... You didn't see the state he was in last night. If you don't do something about Holly, you won't have him at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note for Americans: there's no ricotta in lasagne, okay? When you put ricotta in there, you may have some kind of baked pasta dish - perhaps the sort of substitute one might serve in prisons, or school cafeterias - but you do not have lasagne. This is Cooking with Toby lesson #1.


	16. Fumbling through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 15:  
> On a boring stakeout, Elliot shared a roast pork sandwich and told Olivia that whatever this thing with Toby was, it was still happening. On another night Toby gave Elliot lasagne, and Elliot gave Toby a taste of Elliot after a long, bad day. Toby got to enjoy his very first weekend flying solo with his kids, except for the enjoying part. Holly and Harry, it turns out, are not mutual fans. And Genevieve's father was not a fan of Holly's behaviour. Turns out this parenting thing is harder than it has seemed these last few months with just Holly.

Elliot left work on time for once, and avoided the accident on the Manhattan Bridge. Instead he got caught in the traffic from the one on the Brooklyn Bridge and then he had to circle a couple of blocks before he found a parking spot, muttering a last few curses as he pulled in. He grabbed his jacket off the passenger seat and hurried towards the restaurant.

Toby was playing with the little candle on the table while he waited, so absorbed he hadn't heard the bell jangle when Elliot came in. He must have had a long day; he was still wearing his dress shirt from work. Of course he'd ditched his tie. His hair was growing out, almost touching his collar. Elliot waved off the waiter with a nod towards Toby's table, took the last few steps and slid into the chair opposite. "One day I'm going to make it here first."

The way Toby's face lit warmed Elliot. "I've only been here a few minutes."

It had been over a week since that stilted visit when Elliot was worn out by hours of child pornography. Almost three since the pair of them and Holly debated whether British spelling was allowed in word games. Even longer since Elliot groped Toby's ass and decided he was ready for more. Things had moved faster when he and Kathy were seventeen. He'd been letting his imagination wander a little further when he jerked off, and now the idea of putting his hand on Toby's cock, feeling Toby's hand on his... He was ready, and watching Toby right now made him sure of it. He'd been tempted to suggest they meet at Toby's, worry about dinner later, but there was two weeks' worth of stuff to talk about, starting with whatever went wrong with Harry's visit. Or maybe not starting with that, but they'd get to it.

There was plenty of catching up to do. Toby had caught another contract error at work. Elliot threw Toby a few side-details of the case that had chewed up his life, and told him about Dickie's new girlfriend Allison, who was moving to Canada in a few weeks, to Dickie's total devastation.

When they'd put a solid dent in their curries, Elliot finally put his elbows on the table and asked, "How was Harry's visit?"

"It was good. We went to Times Square, took a walk through Central Park, all the tourist stuff. He liked riding the subway." Toby's eyes dodged Elliot's.

"If it was good, you would have told me all about it before we got our pappadums. You would have sounded a lot happier when you called me on Monday."

"It was fine." Toby said that to the table. It wasn't fine.

Elliot tried another tack. "I told Olivia you taught me how to make a roast. Shared my sandwich on a stakeout."

"You told her?"

"I also mentioned I was having dinner with you tonight."

Toby's eyebrows crawled high. "What did she say?"

"She was surprised. She didn't say much. You were right. I should trust her with this stuff. And you should trust me."

"I told you. It was fine."

They fell silent. They both knew Toby was lying, but it didn't seem constructive to push him on it. Elliot couldn't imagine how badly it must have gone, to clam Toby up like this.

All right. Elliot took a breath. "Maureen just got a new job at lab in Bed-Stuy."

Toby was happy enough to talk about Elliot's kids. Maureen's new job took them through the end of their meal and the slow walk back to Toby's. It was almost eight and the sky was still light as they wandered through the neighbourhood. Elliot wanted to pull Toby closer and smell him, let his hands rest lightly on Toby's waist. Tell him he'd missed him, that he'd been thinking about him. That he'd been jerking off more than he had in years. Just walking this close to Toby, he was half-hard. He hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself tonight.

They were quiet as they climbed the stairs, desire crackling in the air, in Elliot's fingers. They were going to get somewhere this time. For three weeks Elliot had been thinking about different ways to touch Toby's cock, and he was more than ready. He'd left his guns at the station tonight.

Toby let them in and dropped his keys in the dish by the door. Elliot caught his elbow and pulled him back, resting his hands on Toby's waist and brushing their lips, breathing in as Toby's breath escaped. He tasted good. Elliot's chest felt tight, blood rushing like there wasn't time for this, as if Toby might be snatched away before Elliot could have him. Hands curved around Elliot's neck and Toby's mouth nudged his open, tongue flicking over his teeth. Right here with him.

Slow kisses, calming him. All he cared about was making Toby feel good. And maybe not making a fool of himself. He pulled away long enough to shrug off his jacket, leaving it on the table, eyes never leaving as Toby took off his own. Elliot didn't let him get any further before he came back and touched his chest, hovered over his shirt buttons, and then he slid a hand over Toby's stomach, felt the muscles flutter, down over the buckle of his belt, down to the heavy bulge in his pants and Toby's groan went straight to his own cock. Long and solid. It was the same thrill he'd always felt finding Kathy wet for him. Elliot let his fingers feel out the length, study the shape. Rubbing back and forth, drinking the sighs until Toby's hands caught in his shirt. "C'mon El. Keep going."

It was the first time Toby had ever pushed for more, and Elliot couldn't refuse. He quickly unbuttoned Toby's shirt to get it out of the way, rested his hands for just a moment on his smooth cotton undershirt before he slipped his belt open, undid button and zip, pushed his pants and boxers down over his ass with Toby's help, and out bounced Toby's cock, flushed and thick for Elliot. If there was a good time for Elliot to panic, this ought to be it. He wasn't panicking. He wanted to touch it.

Elliot had been imagining a porn-star cock to go with Toby's porn-star experience. It was just a normal size, a little smaller than Elliot's, not so intimidating. Standing in a patch of curling hair that spread around his cock, loose and wild, tinged with ginger, nothing like Kathy's landscaped triangle.

Toby tugged his hand, impatient. "Don't chicken out on me now, Stabler."

Elliot chuckled. "I'm not chickening out." He was becoming more sure of this by the second. He wrapped his hand around, trying to settle into the unfamilar angle, and gave an experimental stroke.

Toby's head fell on his shoulder. "Yeah."

Elliot had seen plenty of other men's cocks, in locker rooms and strip searches, and they'd never seemed the least bit interesting. At least not since the curiosity of junior high, and the typical teenage worries about what was normal. This was a whole new kind of interesting. With maybe a few of the old worries still lingering.

It shouldn't be a challenge: it was a cock, just like Elliot's, but there was a world of difference between jacking yourself off to a quick finish and learning to read someone else's pleasure. Elliot had known Kathy's body even better than his own, when to tickle and when she needed something firmer, could get her off with his hand in minutes and his mouth in less. Toby was strange territory, and Elliot's map was out of date.

They weren't going to do this standing. Elliot looked around, guided Toby back to sit on the couch and sat beside him. Toby pushed his pants further down his thighs, and Elliot felt absurdly over-dressed. He yanked off his tie and pulled the tails of his shirt loose, quickly undid the buttons as Toby found his chest, flat palms skimming down to the hem of his undershirt, teasing along his stomach. Elliot wanted to get their undershirts off, see Toby's muscled chest and the scatter of hair between his tight copper nipples, but this was all he had patience for. He circled his hand around Toby's cock, a little looser than he liked himself, and got going.

Toby put his hands on the cushion behind him, eyes closing, lips parted like he was waiting for Elliot to kiss him. He would, later, but now he was busy learning what made Toby's breath change. Short strokes, long strokes, a brush of nails. After a while Toby's hand covered his and tightened, picked up the pace, and Elliot couldn't look away from the bliss on Toby's face.

Who would have imagined this six months ago? Elliot Stabler jerking off another guy, his own cock pressed hard against his zip, wondering if the glistening pre-come at the tip would taste like his own?

Quiet needy sounds joined their rhythm, falling from wet lips. Elliot added a little twist like he did when he was getting close and Toby's hand gripped his thigh. Elliot couldn't wait to see Toby's hips jerk, hear the sounds, smell the come spilling over his stomach. Everything Toby did turned him on.

Elliot pressed his left hand against Toby's chest, flat and hard, knew Toby was watching him look, so he said, "Can't believe how sexy you are." He ran his hand over the smooth muscles, down to push his shirt up to expose his twitching abs. "I'm so hard right now. I've been imagining you like this all week." Toby's hips jerked and they moved faster and Elliot tried to match his rhythm until Toby stilled with a long groan, squeezing Elliot's leg hard, and then his cock was pulsing in Elliot's hand, come shooting over his tight stomach.

Elliot was rock-hard from watching Toby come. He'd been afraid he might freak out afterwards but he felt amazing. He wanted to drag Toby's attention back and put his hand to work.

Toby's eyes opened, drooping and warm. "Thank you."

Elliot snorted. He wasn't after thanks.

Toby reached past the end of the couch for a handful of tissues, wiped off Elliot's hand and his own stomach. He pulled his pants up but left his fly open as he swung a leg over Elliot's, slid until he was straddling his lap, still not touching Elliot's cock, and leaned in, stopping just short of a kiss. "Did you like touching me?"

Elliot would have preferred to hear if he'd done okay, but of course Toby couldn't miss an opportunity to tease. "Yeah. I liked touching you." He ran his hands up Toby's chest. He liked touching him like this, too. He caught the hem of Toby's shirt and pushed it up until Toby took over and dragged it over his head. "I feel like I've crossed some kind of no-return line."

Soft laughter warmed Toby's face. "You haven't crossed that line until I've sucked your cock. You'll never want a woman again."

Elliot groaned. He hadn't hoped for more than a hand. He hoped Toby wouldn't expect him to return that favour just yet, but that was a problem for later. Elliot hadn't had his cock sucked in... a really fucking long time. "Don't make me wait."

Toby slithered backwards to kneel between Elliot's knees, smiling as he undid his belt and opened his fly. 

Elliot was conscious of all sorts of things he hadn't been conscious of with Kathy in years. Ingrown hairs and if he was big enough and where to put his hands. All the ordinary things that made people ordinary when you got close enough, but he lifted his hips and Toby dragged his pants and briefs down to his ankles, came back up and his eyebrows lifted. "Nice," Toby whispered. "You didn't tell me what a beautiful fat cock you have," and he buried his face in Elliot's lap, making Elliot gasp, the slight rough of Toby's jaw against his sensitive cock nothing like Kathy's soft cheek. Toby's hands pressed Elliot's knees wide and he licked a wet line from his balls all the way up to the tip. So incredibly- And then he latched onto the head and holy... wow.

Sex with a new partner was supposed to be a little awkward as you got to know an unfamiliar body. God knew, Elliot's handjob had been. But this... A groan caught in his throat. Toby seemed to know Elliot's cock better than Elliot, where to touch and how deep to suck and then he pushed Elliot's knees up and took all of Elliot's balls in his hot, wet mouth.

No kids in this house, so Elliot let his moan roll free, saw how Toby's head lifted, eyes going dark. Toby liked that? Toby wanted to hear him? Elliot could give him that.

Toby let go and Elliot groaned; his tongue flicked behind, just a tease towards the crack of his ass and was gone before Elliot could wonder if he was ready or make a protest. All Elliot wanted right now was that incredible mouth back on his cock, and Toby's smug glance said he knew it, and that turned Elliot on even more.

"Do it." 

"Do what?"

That's what Toby wanted? Elliot could talk dirty for him. "Suck me. Suck my cock, Toby."

Toby did, and Elliot rewarded him with a string of wordless thanks.

Kathy had always been generous in bed but Toby set on him with a hunger, like he was getting more pleasure out of sucking Elliot's cock than Elliot was, dragging him all the way down until Elliot could feel the press of his throat hugging the end of his cock and then moaning like he'd never tasted anything so good in his life. Toby's hands had been rubbing Elliot's thighs but now they slid back, burrowing under Elliot's ass to pull him deeper.

"Christ, Toby, I'm going to-"

Toby slid off with a wet pop. "Not yet, you're not." Fingers squeezed, softening the urgency, and for a moment they just watched each other, panting. Toby's lips were red and wet. And then Toby got back to work.

His head was bobbing, lips a tight band pistoning up and down Elliot's cock. Toby's hand flailed around blindly until it found Elliot's and tugged it to the back of his head, and Elliot slid his fingers through Toby's hair. He'd been holding back, not wanting Toby to feel trapped but Toby moaned his approval so Elliot stayed, feeling Toby's skull beneath his hand.

Elliot saw Toby's elbow shifting, realised he was working his own cock.

"Do you like sucking me?" Elliot asked, echoing Toby's earlier question, and Toby slipped off with a wet pop.

"You're delicious. Moan for me, baby."

Elliot was glad to oblige, pushing his fingers through Toby's hair and singing his praises until he felt his balls tighten. "Toby. Toby-"

"What?"

"I'm gonna come."

"Then don't interrupt."

Elliot scrabbled for grip on the cushions. "If you don't want me to..."

Cold air again, Toby glaring up at him. "Want you to come in my mouth? Of course I do. I'm going to suck you dry. Don't make me wait." 

Elliot moaned as Toby took him again. Kathy would swallow but he knew she only did it for him so he always tried to finish up some other way, come on her breasts or make the oral a pre-show to fucking. Toby was greedy for it, couldn't wait for a mouthful of Elliot and that pushed Elliot all the way to the edge, and Toby's incredible tongue did the rest. Pleasure spiked right through him. Elliot's whole body spilled out through his cock; he couldn't close his eyes because Toby looked so fucking hot, cheeks full and swallowing fast, holding tight like he promised until Elliot had nothing left, couldn't even lift his head off the couch.

Toby sat back on his heels, licking his lips, looking pleased with himself.

"Show off."

That made him look even more pleased. He reached for the tissues again, and wiped his wrist, the bottom of the couch, zipped up his pants.

Elliot felt his eyebrows rise. "Can't believe you came again so soon."

"There's a lot of time to while away in prison. It's like a degree in masturbation."

The grin spread across Elliot's face, slow and easy. Crossing the no-return line felt pretty good. "I'll bet you loved to study."

"It's a very competitive school."

Toby was too far away. Elliot fixed his pants and pulled Toby's hand to bring him closer until Toby lay back against Elliot's chest, head tucked under his chin. Elliot had an arm around him, fingers resting on the bare skin. He hoped they wouldn't be moving for a long, long time.

He'd forgotten what this felt like. Sated and close to someone, nothing like the simple physical release of jerking off. Elliot wasn't ready to be returning the favour of a blow job, yet - maybe even less ready to fumble through in the wake of what Toby just gave him - but it was surprising, how easy this was to get used to. He was enjoying this happy, dead weight, couldn't stop touching Toby.

This was the kind of mood when Elliot found it easiest to talk, so he ran his fingers through Toby's hair. "Tell me about the weekend."

There was a long quiet, but Toby hadn't stiffened or pulled away, so Elliot waited.

"It was miserable."

Elliot tightened his hold.

"Harry hates me."

Elliot had been afraid of something like that. "They all hate us sometimes. It's called being a parent. They're not all as easy-going as Holly."

Toby huffed, deflating even more. "Holly was awful. By Sunday they were screaming at each other, and I was useless."

"Holly?" Elliot couldn't imagine her raising her voice.

"Harry went home and cried for days. He told Jonah and Marta he doesn't ever want to come back." He'd never sounded so hopeless.

"Kathleen and I-"

"Elliot, Harry doesn't live three streets away. I can't drive over and fix this tomorrow, and I don't have years of bandaging scraped knees and reading bedtime stories to make him overlook the mistakes."

He squashed the urge to try to comfort. "Tell me what happened."

Toby pulled a cushion over, played with a loose thread. "It turns out Holly and Harry don't exactly like each other. In much the same way the Muslims and the Aryans in Oz didn't exactly like each other."

Elliot was going to guess that was a lot. "You never knew?"

"I knew they weren't close, but that was to be expected. I guess with all the family around whenever Harry visited, it never came up that they didn't spend any time together."

"But with just the three of you..." Maybe the drama wasn't so surprising. "Holly's used to being an only child. I suppose they both are."

"She made it very clear she preferred it that way. He told her all about how his cousin Frances is nice and popular and wouldn't wake up with nightmares after Ripley's Believe it or Not."

"Ouch." Toby took her to Ripley's?

"That night she woke up crying, and she wouldn't let me comfort her." Elliot tightened his grip and pulled Toby closer. "I knew I shouldn't have taken her there, but I'd already said no to Coney Island. I wanted to do whatever Harry wanted for as long as he was here."

"You only had one weekend." Of course he wanted to make Harry happy.

"He made fun of her for wetting the bed." Elliot started to sit up, and Toby patted his clenched hand. "He's only nine; he doesn't understand. I wish Holly didn't understand." 

If anyone had made fun of Maureen for waking up in tears after seeing that burning body, Elliot would have read them the riot act. But Elliot hadn't been trying to win his kids over in a weekend. As it was, seven year-old Elizabeth lent Maureen one of her favourite teddy bears, and Kathleen cried every time Maureen did. 

"I tried to talk to him, but he doesn't want to hear it after she's made him just as miserable."

Elliot had been planning to make Toby open up tonight and then sweep in with some wise advice, but this was a mess.

Toby wiped his face, and Elliot wished he could pull him around to see him properly. "Do you think I spoil my kids?"

"Of course not." He had the money to do it, but Elliot hadn't seen anything like that in Holly. She had less stuff than his own kids. "What makes you ask that?"

"I bought Harry a Nintendo, the little handheld one."

"Dickie and Lizzie got them for their birthday."

"I wasn't trying to buy Harry off; I just wanted to give him something, so I told the kids they could each choose a treat in Toys R Us."

"That sounds reasonable. What did Holly pick?"

"She said she didn't want anything."

Elliot pressed his lips to the back of Toby's neck as he tried to imagine that. "A kid who doesn't want anything in Toys R Us? That's some impressive sulking." Elliot was pretty sure even Maureen would still take him up on an open wallet in a toy store.

"She was angry enough that she wouldn't even look at the jigsaw puzzles. We agreed she could have some bonus allowance next time we're in a bookstore instead. She doesn't deserve it after all the fighting, but..."

"But you can't refuse to give her books when Harry went home with a Nintendo."

"Exactly. Though Jonah and Marta have threatened to take the Nintendo away, so it's all fucking unfair for everyone."

"They what? Why?"

"They don't allow video games in the house. It's not really... they're going to let him have it for a set time on certain days."

So that was who put all this second-guessing in Toby's head. And these people had their hands on Toby's son. "Toby, you're his father."

Toby twisted to face him, breaking Elliot's hold. His eyes were burning. "So is Jonah. Jonah's the father who changed his diapers and helped him with his homework and taught him to ride a bike. What's left for me to do except make him feel torn between two families?"

"You can make sure he knows you love him." Elliot wanted to tell him to get a damned lawyer and bring his son home, be a father. He knew it was more complicated than that but he couldn't fight his own instincts. Nobody got between him and his kids. Kathy and Elliot had enough trouble agreeing where to set the kids' boundaries, and they had twenty years of marriage to figure it out. Elliot couldn't imagine how you started negotiating your kid with a couple of strangers.

"I think he'd be happier if I butted out of his life."

"Or maybe he'd just think you don't want him. Don't give up on him, Toby." Elliot let his fingers dig into Toby's arm, determined to make him listen. "You need time alone with Harry. You can't fix anything while everyone's yelling; believe me, I've tried."

"I know that. But how do you think it would go down with Holly, kicking her to my mother's for a weekend while Harry stays with me?"

That wouldn't go well, by the sounds of it. "Can you go to San Diego?"

Toby flopped back to sit on the couch, breaking Elliot's hold. "I had an application for an out-of-state travel pass in with my parole officer, but I never heard back."

"Try again. I can't think of a better reason than your son."

Toby nodded. After a few minutes of quiet, he said, "Jonah used to like me. He pulled me aside on our wedding day and told me how happy he was to have me for a son-in-law."

"Do they blame you for..." He wasn't sure if it was safe to finish that sentence.

"Genevieve's death? Gary's death? Everything else? Of course. He has every right to."

Elliot wanted to drag Toby back into his arms. He wanted to argue, knew he wouldn't get anywhere. "What about Marta?"

"She's far too well-bred to tell me what a disappointment I am, but I can hear it in her voice. They'd both be happier if I'd just leave Harry to them and disappear."

"Don't do it."

"I won't."

That's all Elliot could ask. "Why don't you just worry about Holly for now? Patch things up with her?"

"I'm trying. She's talking to me, at least."

"That's good."

"And then she remembers that she's mad, and turns cold again."

"Spend time with her. Take her somewhere she likes; pretend you don't even notice there's anything wrong. You can talk about getting along with Harry when you're back in her good books."

"Is that what you do with Kathleen?"

Elliot opened his mouth and closed it. No, that wasn't what he did with Kathleen. With Kathleen, he growled and snapped and told her he knew better.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sometimes Holly got it in her head that Toby had to catch up on all the important pop culture from his lost years - as judged by an eleven year-old. It could be useful - he was never going to look like an idiot for asking who Harry Potter was again - but he sometimes suspected Holly was taking advantage of him. He was grateful when the phone rang. "Hey. We saw you on the news looking surly." Holly snorted, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Escorting Crislip into the van?"

"Yeah. I suppose you're still at work?"

"I've got a few minutes." He sounded harried, like he'd prised those few minutes out of something important.

Toby pushed Holly's legs off his lap, so she caught up the remote. "Do you want me to pause it?"

"No, you keep watching." He headed for his bedroom.

"What are you watching?" Elliot asked.

"Princess Diaries."

Elliot chuckled. "Did you get to the accident with the cable car, yet?"

"Not yet. Watching this earns me good dad points, right? Towards some kind of prize?"

"You're loving every minute."

Of course he was. He'd had Holly sprawled in his lap for the last hour, giggling.

"The cable car scene is pretty good. Does this mean things are back to normal with Holly?"

Toby closed his door. "She won't hear a good word about Harry, but we're okay. Which is a good thing, because Luke, my PO, finally cleared me for San Diego."

"That's great!"

Toby had been itching to tell him since he got the call this morning. "Next month, for Father's Day. Just for the weekend, but that's probably enough to start. I haven't broken the news to Holly, yet."

"Will she go with you?"

Toby had to thank his mother for this one. "Mother's going to arrange a trip to her sister's in Rhode Island that weekend, so Holly can choose to go with her, or with me."

"You hope she'll go to your aunt's."

"My Aunt Melinda has horses. There's no danger Holly's going to choose Harry over horses."

"This is great, Toby. This is just what you need." Elliot was bubbling, even more excited than Toby. Toby had been chanting, 'This is going to be great,' like a mantra.

"How about you? Did Lizzie get the part she wanted in that play?"

"No, but she really likes the part she got. I'm glad I got dinner in with her and Kathleen last night before this case blew up. We're going to be combing through this shit for days." Exhaustion swept back into his tone.

That meant Toby wasn't going to be seeing him for a while. Damn. He wanted to make some kind of dirty joke, tell Elliot that sweet, fumbling handjob had got him off more times than he could count, but the glimpse of Elliot's face in the midst of a grisly news report had been a sobering reminder of Elliot's day job, and he probably didn't want to hear it right now.


	17. Lights off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 16:  
> Toby was not forthcoming about what went wrong with Harry's visit. He was more amenable to some sex: at last, Elliot gave his very first hand job, and he liked it. In return Toby sucked him off, and he was really, really good at it.  
> In the post-coital languor, Toby was much more amenable to interrogation. He told Elliot about the spectacular fights between Holly and Harry, and the strained effort of sharing parenting of Harry with Gen's parents.  
> Things got better with Holly, and Toby was rewarded with a viewing of Princess Diaries. His PO has cleared him to visit Harry in San Diego, and maybe things are looking up.

Elliot had barely spoken two words when he came in. He'd offered to help cook and turned whatever the hell was bugging him on the vegetables. Toby had made a couple of attempts at conversation and gotten only grunts in return, so he left him to it.

But then they were sharing a table, and if someone swapped out the perfectly-done steak for gristly mystery stew, if they'd added in the scent of stale male sweat and industrial cleaners, the tension would have had Toby bracing himself for a riot. Funny how this made him think of Chris, just as he was learning to separate the two in his mind. Not his favourite of Chris's traits.

Toby tried asking after Elliot's kids, the traffic, even sports in the search for a neutral topic, but finally their plates were almost clean and Elliot was still glaring at the table like it had wronged his mother. It wasn't what Toby had planned after two weeks living on the memory of sucking Elliot's cock.

Toby stood and began clearing the table.

Elliot jumped up. "I'll get it."

Toby touched Elliot's shoulder. "You helped cook. I've got it."

"I don't need to-"

"Just sit down." Toby's touch turned hard, pushing Elliot back into his chair. He pretended not to see the way Elliot's jaw locked as he gathered up the plates. This was the roiling rage Elliot had warned him about. Probably intimidating to most people - probably frightening for Kathy and his kids - but Toby had showered with men who beat other men to death, and one who'd eaten his own mother. A moody cop didn't rate. Besides - Elliot had chosen to come here, when he could have gone home. He wanted to talk, even if he didn't know it. Toby just had to figure out how to make him open his mouth before he got on Toby's last nerve. He packed the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, and went back to sit down.

He took the simplest approach. "Talk to me."

Elliot looked up, startled. "You know I can't tell you about the cases."

"You can tell me generalities. You can tell me how you feel. You can tell me if it was Olivia's turn or yours to buy the coffee."

"You really give a shit who buys the coffee?"

"I give a shit that you've had a bad day."

Elliot shut his mouth, and they were back to tense silence. At least there was a little guilt creeping in on Elliot's stormy face. Even so, it was another couple of minutes before Elliot managed to ask, "Have you talked to Harry lately?"

"Yes."

"How did it go?"

"It went fine." Distant, formal, polite. A father's dream.

Cautiously, Elliot asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not with you in this mood. I'm going to call Holly, say goodnight." Toby grabbed his phone and went to the bedroom.

His mother had let Holly into her costume jewellery box and Holly was in a good mood, her bubbling taking the edge off his irritation. He missed her, even when it was just a couple of nights. When Toby hung up, he turned to see Elliot standing in the doorway, mouth pressed in a tight line. Toby put the phone down and waited.

"I don't want to go home."

"I didn't ask you to."

Elliot kept standing there, obviously feeling guilty about being a dick, but still too much of a dick to apologise for it.

So Toby stayed where he was, already tired of butting up against Elliot's temper. He wondered how Kathy had stood it so long.

Toby waited, and Elliot waited, and finally Toby broke. "Is it so fucking hard for you to apologise?"

After a second, Elliot let out a breath, with a bitter half-smile. "Yeah."

"You should try it. You might be amazed what kind of shit I'm willing to forgive."

Elliot crossed the room and kissed him. "I'm sorry."

Toby tugged at his tie, still tight to his buttoned collar. "I don't care if you get in a bad mood, Elliot. I don't even mind all that much if you take it out on me, if you'll at least tell me what's going on."

He heaved a short sigh. "Office politics."

"Brass or precinct?"

"Precinct. Finn sees no need to coddle me with his opinions. Or express them in private."

Toby regretted pushing. The contrition from a minute ago was being eaten up by fresh anger. "Was he unfair?"

Elliot met his gaze. "Partly. Not entirely."

"So blow off the unfair part, like I'm blowing off what a prick you've been tonight, and fix the rest."

"Just like that."

Toby didn't want to stir Elliot up. He wanted to get him naked. He unthreaded Elliot's tie and dropped it on the floor, opened the top button and kissed Elliot's throat. "Just like that." He could feel Elliot softening under his lips.

Elliot's hands closed on Toby's shoulders and he dipped his head to catch Toby's mouth, kissing him hard. Yes. This was new. Tonight he was going to find the sharp edges. Toby dragged him closer and gave it back, gave him a little graze of teeth across his lip, swallowed down the groan.

And yet even as his mouth bruised, Elliot's hands were gentle, stroking down Toby's polo shirt over and over before they slid beneath, caressing Toby's skin. "Is this all right?"

Toby pushed Elliot's shirt off his shoulders. "As long as this is all right." As Elliot unbuttoned his sleeves and slipped it off Toby pulled his own shirt over his head, waited for Elliot to pull off his undershirt, and got right back to touching that delicious broad chest.

Elliot pressed Toby back towards the bed, put a knee on the mattress to gently guide him to lie down. There was a nervous smile that said he was well aware they'd never been on the bed before. Elliot had never even been in Toby's bedroom.

But here they were, Elliot's solid weight spread over Toby, hard lips and gentle hands and hard cocks rubbing. So much room for possibility in this big bed. Chris would have had Toby on his hands and knees, chest flat to the mattress, begging to be fucked. Gen would be lying on her back, legs crossed demurely as she played with her breasts, inviting him in. Toby wondered what Kathy had been like, what Elliot was like with her. Tender, no doubt. Like this. Elliot wasn't going to have Toby ass in the air, begging for a fucking tonight. And Toby didn't mind. Just like he hadn't minded the fumbling hand job the other week. The charming awkwardness had been its own kind of turn-on, nothing like Chris, nothing like the sluts in the clubs.

Elliot wiggled down to press his face against Toby's chest, breathing him in. He caught Toby's hands and pulled them up over his head, buried his nose under his arm and inhaled. "I never knew a man could smell so good."

"Fuck, Elliot."

"This is what I could smell that day we played basketball. Confused the hell out of me."

Toby wrapped a hand around the back of Elliot's neck. "I knew exactly what was making me hard." What did it matter that it been thoughts of Chris then, if Toby was making Elliot feel good now? And Toby was thinking of Elliot right now, mostly. It grew harder to confuse them, the closer Toby got to Elliot.

"Can I take your jeans off?" Chris never would have asked. Toby nodded and Elliot did it, dropped his own pants and socks, dumped his ankle-holster in the corner and crawled back in in briefs tented by a huge cock. Seemed like all those men at Franco's had turned Toby into a size queen. This was Chris: the shape of him, the confidence in his body, but with an upgrade on his very best weapon. What would Chris have thought of that? Toby slid his hand over a broad shoulder, a corded arm, pushed fingers through the light fur of his chest, to the treasure trail that crept down his hard stomach.

Elliot touched him back, just as curious. More curious, Toby supposed. Here he was in bed for the first time with a man, each of them one article short of naked. Toby was quietly impressed by how far Elliot had come, but now he was ready to get it all off, explore every inch and teach him a few new things.

Fingers skimmed the elastic of Toby's boxers and tugged and Toby purred. Heavy hands smoothed over his hips and dragged the fabric down, scraping over -

Toby reached back to catch them. His brand. Elliot hadn't seen his brand.

"Toby?" There was that desire Toby had been poking for, and now he couldn't do it. 

Toby couldn't let Elliot see Vern's handiwork on his body. Toby wanted to fuck, not deal with the sympathetic face, the offer to listen, the professionally-hidden revulsion. It was one thing to show off his cocksucking skills; it was something else to remind Elliot where he got them.

Elliot pulled his hand away from danger and rubbed Toby's neck. "We don't have to-"

"Let me get the lights." Toby wriggled out and turned off the bedroom light, conscious of Elliot's gaze. The narrow beam from the hallway was enough to keep track of where elbows went without revealing uglier details, and Toby didn't need the light to know the shape of Elliot's body.

Toby dropped his shorts and crawled across the bed and rubbed a hand over Elliot's chest. Elliot watched him, eyes bright in the gloom, distracted from the mood change by Toby's bobbing cock. He couldn't take his eyes from it. Toby wanted to reassure Elliot that he wasn't going to pressure him to put his mouth on it just yet, but part of Toby loved Elliot's nervousness, the blush of a virgin in this big, beefy man. Chris hadn't had one blush left in him.

Toby swung a leg over Elliot's thighs and poked his cock against the soft bulge of balls in Elliot's grey briefs, let the sensitive tip of his dick graze up the rough cotton straining over that hard on, painting a damp line to the crease at the head.

"Toby..." Elliot reached for the sides of his briefs but Toby stopped him with one hand.

"Not yet." Elliot didn't grasp how much time they had. They could do this all night, if they wanted. Toby could paint lines of pre-come all over those nice grey briefs for an hour and still have time for a hundred other things.

Toby rubbed his hands over Elliot's chest. The tension that had had him growling all evening was still winding him tight. Toby knew how Elliot wanted this. A soft kiss right in the centre pushed the air out of Elliot's lungs, and then Toby worked his lips along the line of muscle, the hard mound of his pectoral, feeling it shift as Elliot reached up to touch Toby's hair. Toby nibbled at a tight brown nipple and Elliot exhaled. Not a guaranteed moan like Chris. The other as well, and Elliot sighed but soon he was nudging Toby for more.

Elliot's tongue clicked. "Touch my cock, Toby."

So he'd already figured that much out about Toby's weaknesses.

"I'm aching for you, Toby."

Toby cupped his hand around the heavy weight of balls. "Here?"

"Yeah."

"Or here?" He let his hand slide up to that beautifully thick rod. This was going to feel so damned good up Toby's ass.

"Yeah."

Toby let his fingers play over the lines, slowly teasing through Elliot's underpants until the dark head was working its way past the elastic, and then he took everything away and just let his thumb brush over the sensitive spot under the head, light and slow. Elliot closed his eyes and sighed, those pretty lips parted, his legs spreading as far as Toby's knees allowed. Toby couldn't help thinking how nice it would be, to slide his cock in that waiting mouth, or to spread Elliot wider and push his cock in that tight ass, fuck him slow. But this was nice, too, this single teasing touch enough to keep Elliot going.

"More, Toby."

Toby hooked his fingers over the elastic of Elliot's briefs and lifted them over his cock, took them to his knees. He was going to do this with just his hands tonight, get Elliot off with his fingers and palms, see if Elliot liked a little brush of fingernails... yeah, he did.

Elliot stretched his arms up over his head, closing his eyes and surrendering to Toby's control, content to just lie in the dark and feel Toby playing with his cock. Toby made the most of it, building slow and taking his time to rub the tension out of Elliot's thighs, stroking Elliot to full hard and then pushing his knees up and playing with his balls in their hairy sack.

It was one hand splayed across Elliot's belly and the other pulling long, slow strokes all the way from the base over the head that really did Elliot in, had him whimpering and wriggling and telling Toby, "Just like that." Toby pressed his belly and pulled a little harder, felt Elliot's hips lifting, and then Elliot's hand covered Toby's on his stomach. "Wait." Elliot met his eyes. "Can I come on you, Toby? I want to paint myself across your skin."

It was the dirtiest thing Elliot had ever said. "Say that again."

Elliot shoved his briefs down and off and rolled, flipping them so he could kneel over Toby's hips. He guided Toby's hand back to his cock, wanting Toby to get him over the line. "I want to come on you."

It only took a few short strokes and Elliot's face screwed up and he caught his breath as his cock jerked, as he shot white sticky lines almost up to Toby's neck, all the way down to his cock. Elliot covered Toby's grip to press the last of it out onto Toby's groin, and then he laid a hand on Toby's chest and started rubbing it into his skin, over his nipples, circles on his stomach and down to the last white threads in Toby's pubes. Elliot worked it carefully into Toby's heavy cock, making sure Toby smelled like fucking and Elliot.

Toby hissed his approval as Elliot worked him with both hands, more confident this time around, no interest in stretching this out like Toby had. Sure strokes and an occasional pause to lean down and breathe deep from the territory he'd marked on Toby's stomach and chest, and every time it tightened his grip and moved him faster until Toby was thrusting urgently into his hand, until Toby froze up and shot over all the same places, and Elliot looked pleased as fuck as he rubbed that into Toby's skin as well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot ran his hand down the length of Toby's back, smooth skin over firm muscles. A scar here and there that Elliot would ask about, one day, down to the elastic of his shorts. He shifted closer and kissed the blade of Toby's shoulder, the bump of spine.

"Again already?" Toby muttered into the pillow, sounding amused and half asleep.

"I just want to touch you." Just this was enough to get Elliot's gut tingling. On some level, he'd started this whole thing with Toby thinking he'd get it out of his system, as if at some point his body would remember it was dealing with a man and reject him. It wasn't happening. Elliot wanted this broad, hard back. The flat, solid chest. The low, masculine voice. Toby's cock. Even while he'd been choking on rage tonight, bitter blood urging him to hide in a dark room and beat a wall senseless, his body had been craving Toby's soothing touch the way it used to crave Kathy's. Elliot skimmed his hand down Toby's side, watching goose bumps follow. He was ready to put his mouth on Toby's cock.

He'd been disappointed when Toby turned the lights off. Disappointed again afterwards when Toby put his shorts back on before switching on a lamp. Elliot wasn't afraid of Toby's body anymore. Elliot had jokingly asked if that was really necessary, and felt like an ass when Toby turned awkward. Maybe their glacial pace wasn't just for Elliot's benefit.

Elliot lifted his fingers off Toby's skin before he clenched them. They'd never talked about what happened to Toby in that place. Aside from Toby's bitter rebuke when they talked about the death penalty, it hadn't been mentioned aloud since Elliot interviewed him as a witness.

Most days Elliot tried his hardest not to think about what happened to Toby in Oz. He couldn't flip through rape kit photos, playing out scenarios, if Toby was on his mind. Most of the time, with Toby's seemingly easy confidence to distract him, he managed it.

He also tried not to think about what Toby had been doing in those clubs. Elliot knew that his issue with Toby's swamp of partners was his own problem, shouldn't have been any of his damned business, but the idea of so many anonymous men touching Toby - being rough with Toby, taking advantage of the raw wounds from his abuse - sickened him. Elliot couldn't imagine touching strangers like that, men or women, had never understood the appeal of prostitutes or one night stands, being with someone without caring what was under their skin. How you left yourself this vulnerable to someone you didn't trust. Elliot didn't trust anyone in the space of a drink and a dance. Or wouldn't, if he danced, which he didn't. He found it hard enough thinking of Toby with a caring prison lover, let alone god knew how many that had treated him like a receptacle. 

Thirteen years of SVU told Elliot why Toby could be with Nikos Perro, the rough-fucking rapist murderer, three times under the glare of fluorescents, and yet need to turn the lights off for Elliot, but all that training couldn't quiet the selfish lover who wanted Toby's trust. Elliot kissed Toby's back, got a sleepy purr. Laid a line of kisses, shoulder to shoulder. He told himself to bury it. They'd never even had any kind of conversation about how deep this was getting.

This was why he tried to keep that shit out of his head. Post-orgasm high to rampant insecurities in three minutes flat. A better man would have been lying here wondering how he could be a better support to Toby, but Elliot was a selfish prick. Finn could have told him that. Would have, given half a chance. Fucking Finn. As if he was man of the year.

But Toby thought better of Elliot. Elliot touched the hair that curled at the back of Toby's neck, twisted it in his fingers. Toby trusted Elliot. Didn't he?

"I'm sorry I can't..."

Elliot closed his eyes, wishing the words back, but he could feel Toby turning, propping himself up on an elbow. "What is it?"

Elliot really wished Toby wouldn't look at him like that when he didn't know if this was self-doubt, or if he was being a manipulative prick. "I'm sorry I'm not, that I can't, give you what you need."

The shadow between Toby's eyebrows deepened. "What is it you think I need?"

Elliot struggled to get the words out. "I know you like it rough."

"What?"

Elliot stared at a wrinkle on the sheet between them. It was easier than looking at Toby. "I don't know if you're waiting for me to get comfortable with all this, and then thinking I'll be able to give you some kind of rough fuck, but I can't do that. It's never gonna happen. I spend my days staring at all the worst shit people do to each other, and I'm never, ever going to put a bruise on you. Not even if you ask."

"What makes you think I'm going to ask?"

"You said it. Back when we met, when we interviewed you about the Markstrom murder."

Toby swung away to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. "Christ."

"I'm sorry."

"You think I liked that?"

"You said you did."

Toby didn't look back. "And you expected I was going to tell some sexy, child-rescuing hero that I craved that fresh bite of guilt and shame and pain to remind me just what a piece of shit I was, how much I didn't deserve anything I had?"

"Toby-"

"But you know that, because you've been dealing with people like me all your career. You probably diagnosed me that same day: I liked letting other men treat me the way I felt inside."

Of course he had. Elliot wished he could turn the clock back five minutes, lay a kiss on Toby's shoulder and shut his damned mouth. "I wish you wouldn't think of yourself that way."

"Then keep on doing what you're doing. That's how I know it's you and not... anyone else."

Elliot pulled Toby close, rolling up to lean against the headboard so Toby's face was in his shoulder, breath warming his throat. Held him tight enough to wonder if he was already breaking his word about bruises. They lay there, content to let the minutes tick by with their skin sticking together, Toby's restless fingers drawing patterns on Elliot's ribs.

Elliot took the time to look around Toby's room. He'd been in here the night he put Toby to bed, but he'd never had a chance to explore. The lamp shadowed more than it lit, but he could see enough. The room was perfectly tidy except for the clothes strewn across the floor, and fifty percent of those were Elliot's. A small painting hung on the wall by the window: the New England coast, by the looks of it. There was a weight bench in the corner; Elliot had never thought much about how Toby kept in shape, but it had to be well-used. It hadn't been turned into a clothes rack, like a lot of benches. Mostly the room was dominated by bookshelves, more in here than in the living room. Three... no, four shelves of legal books. Sentiment? Or punishment for a career he could never have back? On the bedside table by Elliot's elbow there was a thick Tolstoy and a leather bound Bible, glasses folded on top. He reached to turn the pile to see the spine, wondering if Toby was a King James or a Revised Standard kind of guy, but it wasn't the Bible. It was the Quran. Elliot felt his eyebrow rising.

Warm breath puffed against his neck, and Toby's voice rumbled, "Does it worry you we might have trouble finding a priest and an imam to do a joint service for our Massachusetts wedding?" Toby lifted his head and whatever Elliot's expression was, it made Toby smile.

He wasn't going to touch the wedding comment. Toby was just trying to get a rise out of him, but that wasn't even... "You're Muslim?" Elliot didn't know what to make of that.

Toby watched him for a minute before replying. "Nah. I'm not that certain. Definitely not so good at abstaining from unnatural sex acts." His wicked look made Elliot laugh, and maybe blush a little. "I just find a lot of comfort there." He turned, fluffing a pillow to shove behind his back so he could sit up beside Elliot. "Harry seemed happy enough when I told him I was coming to visit. At least, once I told him Holly wasn't coming."

"Give it time."

"It feels like time is rushing past. Eight years trickled by, you can't even imagine how slowly. Now... I'm going to blink and he'll be eighteen, twenty-five, and I won't know him."

"Just think about that one weekend for now. Make it all about him."

"We'll see." He didn't sound too hopeful. Or perhaps it was that he wasn't so eager. Trying to shove years of fatherhood into a couple of days under the eye of his resentful in-laws wouldn't have Elliot turning somersaults either. If this was a normal relationship, like Kathy - if this was a woman in his arms - Elliot could have offered to go with her, be there for her. Neither of them were ready for that. Elliot tried to imagine submitting a leave request to Cragen, to support his ex-con boyfriend reuniting with his son. Would he ever be ready for that? Maybe in about twenty years, which was still a long way sooner than he'd be okay with Finn and Munch and the rest of the squad knowing.

Elliot couldn't even imagine telling Kathy or the rest of the family about this, though it was starting to prey on his mind. If this continued, at some point his and Toby's lives would become so entangled that it would be inevitable. The thought of it knotted his gut.

Elliot checked the beside clock, leaned to nudge his shoulder against Toby's. "It's getting late."

"You're going to go?"

"Yeah." Elliot swung his legs off the bed and hunted around for his underwear. He wondered if any of Toby's family knew about him. Did they know about Chris? Did they know Toby was into guys at all?

Toby climbed out to help, picked up Elliot's work pants and tried to shake the creases out before offering them over. Elliot pulled them on, sat on the bed to deal with his socks. It gave him a reason to be looking at his feet. "Do you think Holly suspects we're..." He drifted off, hoping Toby would figure out a verb and keep it to himself.

"I don't know."

Elliot swallowed, not sure if he even wanted to ask this. "Do you want to tell her?" He couldn't help looking up to gauge Toby's response.

It didn't matter. Toby had that serious, impenetrable face. "I didn't think you'd want that."

Did he? Elliot honestly didn't know. She seemed to like him well enough, and Toby could do no wrong in her eyes. Elliot suspected if there was anyone who'd shrug it off, it would be her. As long as she could stand the idea of sharing her father, so... maybe not. He pulled on his shirt, eyes on Toby. "I was asking if you want to."

"I don't know. Sometimes. Do you ever think of telling yours?"

"Not really." Only recently, and only the most abstract, distant terms, and he cringed every time. He doubted they'd be okay with it, and they definitely wouldn't shrug it off. "Tell me we aren't up to making that decision yet."

"No rush on that one."

Elliot did all the buttons but the last, slipped his tie under his collar, knotted it and left it loose. He wasn't even ready to be out to Toby's neighbours. Maybe it was progress, that the secrecy was starting to bother him. He definitely hadn't been thinking as far as what his family would think when he kissed Toby downstairs two months ago.

Toby was watching him, looking serious. Standing there in his boxers. It made Elliot smile. He pulled him close and kissed him slowly, trying to reassure him without the words he didn't have yet.


	18. Property

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 17:  
> Elliot came over grumpy and uncommunicative. Toby wasn't impressed. Stroppiness turned to slow, nice sex, which almost ground to a halt when Toby feared Elliot would see his brand, but turning the lights off fixed that. Elliot's insecurities crept in afterwards, but Toby assured him that slow, nice sex was enough. There was a brief and awkward conversation in which they mutually assured each other that no one was coming out of the closet to their kids any time soon.

Summer had arrived in May, sunny and high-eighties and they both had a Saturday afternoon free. This time when Elliot brought the basketball, he clearly knew exactly what he was doing. He also brought a gym bag with a change of clothes. And if Toby thought the last game was hot, it was nothing on this one, with the heat in Elliot's eyes and the way he used his hips to defend, the way Toby could fill out the details when Elliot stopped to drink, his head tipped back, throat bobbing, sweaty tank top clinging to the lines of his torso. This time Toby knew the game was going to have a happy ending. They played hard; Toby bounced off the fence a couple of times, and once he sent Elliot tumbling across the court. Maybe tonight would make Elliot's vow of gentleness a lie, and Elliot would have Toby pinned across the dining table, legs sprawling-

Toby was slammed sideways and pain tore up his arm.

"Shit, Toby, are you okay?" Elliot bobbed down beside him.

"I got distracted."

"You're bleeding."

Toby twisted his arm for a look. "Just a graze." A good one; he'd taken a couple of inches of skin off to his elbow.

"Time out for medical attention. Come on." Elliot offered a hand and pulled Toby up.

By the time they got home, the blood had trickled down to Toby's fingers, making it look a lot more gruesome than it was. They kicked their shoes off and Elliot manhandled him into the bathroom and ordered him to wash it while he dug out the first aid kit. Toby watched Elliot fuss like a well-practised father, amused. Shankings didn't get this kind of coddling in Oz.

"This isn't a first aid kit, Toby. It's a box of band-aids."

"Are you some kind of graze expert?"

"I've taught four kids to ride bikes. Lizzie did a knee, both elbows and her chin two days before school photos."

It was funny the things that sometimes hit Toby sideways. He'd never taught any of his kids to ride a bike. He wasn't sure he'd remember how to ride one himself. "There's gauze in there somewhere."

"Tell me you've got a couple of cold packs in the freezer."

He didn't, but he'd pick some up this week before Elliot thought to check. He did have gauze, and even a bandage, and soon Elliot was laying down the gauze. He paused to touch the pale white line midway down Toby's forearm. "I never noticed that before. You had your bone pinned?"

"Yeah." Toby moved his other arm back, hoping Elliot wouldn't notice the scar's twin.

A brief glance showed Elliot had heard the wariness in Toby's tone, and he turned to rolling the bandage around and around, until Toby's arm was absurdly over-dressed. Elliot dumped the kit on the side of the sink and pointed at it. "Fix that."

"Yes, Mother."

Elliot grinned, and tugged Toby forward by his shirt until their groins pressed. "That was an unfortunate interruption to a very good game."

Toby slid a finger around the scoop of Elliot's tank top where his skin had cooled, sweat turning sticky. "If I offer you a shower this time, will you take it?"

"Not yet." He tipped his head and pressed his lips to Toby's neck, mouthing his way up and down the tendon, and Toby couldn't stop his moan. "You smell good."

"I wouldn't smell better with a shower?"

"No." Elliot's grin was wolfish. He dropped back to strip off his tank top, pulled Toby's t-shirt over his head and dropped them both on the bathroom floor, hooked a finger in the waistband of Toby's shorts, dragging him as far as the bedroom door before putting him against the jamb and his kiss was so gentle, barely a tease beside the hard chest pinning Toby back against solid wood. Elliot's hands were exploring, slipping lightly over sweaty skin, and his broad body pressed into Toby's mirror touches. Toby ached to be put up against the wall, overwhelmed and fucked, but the lion from the basketball court was gone. 

Instead Elliot guided Toby backwards and carefully lowered him onto the bed, settling over him without resting his weight. He kissed and stroked his way over Toby's chest, sliding down as far as his stomach to curl his tongue in Toby's navel, chin inches from Toby's aching cock. Maybe today... Toby cupped a hand behind his neck but Elliot climbed again, pausing sometimes to breathe him in, breaths heavier than his fluttering hands.

The afternoon sun fell across Toby's body, but Elliot never hesitated. He nuzzled his way along Toby's arms, even under Toby's arms, smiling whenever Toby lifted his hips or begged for friction. Finally Toby lost patience and dragged him up for a kiss, making it hard and deep, making Elliot taste his need. He wrapped his legs around Elliot's hips, dragging him down until their cocks pressed through their shorts but Elliot's hands stayed soft, one on Toby's hip, one in his hair.

Elliot sat back slightly, weight pressing on Toby's hips. "Toby, I want to see you."

Toby snorted and spread his hands, but Elliot hooked a finger in Toby's waistband.

"All of you. In daylight."

He was going to see Toby's brand. He would know what it meant. It was one thing for Elliot to know he was raped. For manly, mostly-hetero Elliot to know he'd been some 170 pound Aryan's bitch... Toby wasn't ready for disgust, and he definitely wasn't ready for pity.

Two fingers rested against Toby's lips. "It's okay, Toby. When you're ready." Elliot shifted off to the side, staying close but giving Toby space, as if he might be about to have some kind of panic attack.

Toby's breath rushed out. He could leave this hanging over his head or he could just get it done, rip off the band-aid and let Elliot start getting used to it sooner. 

Toby tucked his thumbs in his waistband and pushed down, stretching them over his bobbing cock, all the way to his knees and kicking them off the end of the bed. He shrugged. "Here I am."

Elliot's gaze stretched all the way down and all the way back up to Toby's eyes. "Six months ago I wouldn't have had any idea how sexy you are." He shoved off his own briefs and hooked a knee over Toby's. Two months ago Toby wouldn't have recognised that Elliot was sexy in his own right. Not just a clone made of bittersweet memories, but a man with his fists clenched too tight around impossible principles, incredible tenderness surviving all the worst humanity had to offer. Toby rolled on top and kissed him, felt Elliot's arms surround him, and for this moment he was glad this was Elliot.

Toby took Elliot's hand and wrapped it around their cocks, and they moaned together. This had been waiting since Elliot showed up with the ball under his arm. It built fast but Elliot backed off, letting his hand loose as he slipped his knees between Toby's and spread him. "We've got time."

Elliot tipped them on their sides, careful to keep Toby's injured arm from the bed, Toby's bottom thigh hitched up so Elliot could lie between his knees for a better view. And god, that focus, the roaming hand that followed the shape of Toby's thigh, that cupped Toby's balls to see how they rolled in his fingers, exploring like a virgin, which... hell.

This is it, Toby wanted to tell him. A man's body. Toby remembered how disconcerting it was, to find his attention lingering on Chris's thighs, on the bump-bump of his abs shining after a workout. Having to drag his imagination away from Chris's ass and chest and cock as he listened to him jerking off in the bunk below.

The second night in lockdown, after the whirlwind of the first, taking his time to explore Chris with new eyes. Of course, Chris had laid back, taking Toby's fascination as his due, so now Toby took a leaf out of his book and spread his legs wider, drifted a hand over his own sweat-sticky chest, a touch as slow and light as Elliot's.

"You turn me on, Toby." At last, Elliot closed his hand around Toby's cock, a couple of loose strokes before asking, "Do you have something? Lubricant, or..."

Toby squashed the momentary hope that someone was about to get fucked. Elliot wasn't close to ready for that. He reached back, fumbling by feel through the drawer behind him until he found it, handed it over for Elliot to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Elliot flashed a nervous smile and slicked him up, watching Toby's cock shine in his thick-fingered hand, testing Toby's reactions when he rubbed here, squeezed there.

Toby was just about to beg for more when Elliot turned to face away. Confusion stretched and then Elliot was pressing back against him, ass in Toby's groin, reaching through to position Toby's cock between his thighs. "Is this all right? I used to do this sometimes with Kathy."

Five awkward seconds before Toby shut his mouth and swallowed the moisture back and said, "Yes." He put a hand on Elliot's hip, fingers resting in the hollow in front, and slid between solid, slippery thighs. Nothing like the clamp of ass but this felt even more vulnerable, this great hulking body asking for the Princeton rub. It made Toby want to be every bit as gentle with Elliot as Elliot was with him. Toby dropped kisses across Elliot's broad shoulders, reached forward to tease his stomach with light touches, rocking all the while.

"You feel good, Elliot. Do you know how sexy you are like this?" Toby's fingers played up Elliot's cock, and then he reached for his hand, still slippery with lube, twisting their fingers together until his were slick as well. Elliot groaned as Toby's oiled hand slid up the length of his cock, picking up a rhythm for the finish.

All this hard-bodied power panting in Toby's arms, clamping tight around his cock. Toby buried his face against Elliot's shoulder and thrust a little harder, faster, listening to Elliot's harsh breaths. Yes. Orgasm dragged up from his balls, pounding between Elliot's thighs, pumping onto his skin. Toby's groan dragged out sideways and Elliot's breath caught, body going still, hand covering Toby's as his cock pulsed.

They stayed together, breathing hard. There was definitely a charm to all this teenage-style coupling.

Toby knew who he was with, and he was okay with it. Elliot wasn't ever going to be Chris, but this was nice. What was wrong with nice?

Elliot slumped against the pillow. "Now I need a shower."

Toby chuckled. "I'll dig out a towel for you." He slid out of bed and headed for the door, looking back over his shoulder to see Elliot's smile frozen, eyes on Toby's ass. On his brand. Fuck.

Toby jerked his eyes forward and went to the linen cupboard because he didn't know what else to do, pulled out a towel and closed the door to find Elliot waiting behind it. "Want to share, Toby? It's hard keeping a bandaged elbow out of the spray." Elliot asked it casually but there was caution in his eyes.

"It's a small shower." Elliot had already seen that was a lie, but Toby wanted Elliot to fuck off, even if it was only for a few minutes.

"I won't be long." Elliot hesitated, awkward, and then leaned in and dropped a light kiss on Toby's mouth before parting with the towel in his hand.

So now Elliot knew. Toby had never had to be afraid of Chris knowing. Chris already knew Vern had helped Toby make himself into something ugly, and Chris loved him anyway. Chris knew every ugly scar. He was ugly inside too.

It shouldn't have mattered. This was supposed to be a phase for Elliot. A mid-life post-divorce experimentation with a friend while Toby got a few nights with almost-Chris. Toby hadn't been ready for conversations about whether to tell their kids - thank god Elliot had looked so terrified by the idea - and it wasn't supposed to be a peek into the man Toby had been in Oz.

Sex with Elliot wasn't supposed to be so different to fucking Chris that sometimes Toby forgot to think of Chris at all.

Toby went and dug out shorts and a t-shirt, ready to jump into the bathroom the moment Elliot was done. Maybe this was the signal that it was time to move on. Just as long as Elliot freaked out and ran like a normal human being, rather than feeling compelled to stick around and fix him.

 

Toby was clean and dressed and telling himself to get back out there when there was a knock, only a second's wait before Elliot opened the bathroom door, slumping in the doorway in jeans and a t-shirt, feet bare. Looking sexy enough to stir Toby's cock. Still here.

"All that winning at basketball and sex has made me hungry."

Toby arched an eyebrow. "You didn't win at sex."

"Yeah, I did, but we'll call it a tie if you like." Elliot rubbed his stomach. It was almost convicing, but Toby could see the tension in his eyes, the twitch in his jaw. Elliot had years of practise in interrogation rooms, but Toby had known Elliot's twin. "Either way, I think I've earned a Tobias Beecher meal."

"You want me to cook for you."

"Uh-huh." Elliot worked his sexiest 'You know you want me' smile. Toby wondered what he'd think, if he knew he shared it with a serial killer. One that fucked Toby long before Elliot started fumbling with him.

"Grocery shopping's tomorrow. I'll see if I've got the makings of something in the cupboard." Toby went and pulled on his own jeans, and then rummaged through the kitchen. "Chilli-crusted chicken on pasta with cheese sauce okay, boss?"

Elliot snorted. "If this was my house, you'd be getting beans on toast."

"Beans on toast?"

"Irish delicacy."

"This is my house, so you're going to grate cheese. Grater's in there, plates are up there, you can guess where the cheese is."

Elliot did as commanded, and Toby started pulling the rest of the ingredients and the pans, braced for the explosion. He wondered if Elliot really was hungry, or if this was some clever, sensitive way to show Toby things were okay despite what he'd just seen. Toby got the pasta boiling, directed Elliot with the sauce while he coated and fried the chicken. All the while he pretended he was distracted enough that he wasn't waiting for Elliot to ask.

Elliot heated plates and gathered up silverware as Toby stirred the cheese sauce through the pasta, started ferrying things to the table. Maybe Elliot was hungry as well as sensitive. 

Toby put the pan in the sink and ran the water. "You've got to be dying to ask about the swastika burned into my ass."

There was silence, and Toby had to look back, saw Elliot was mulling his answer. As if he hadn't been pracising it for the last hour. "I'm not some civillian you can shock, Toby. I've seen everything. If you want me to be angry about what happened to you, I... believe me, I am. If you want me to feel differently about you, I don't."

Toby fought back the urge to argue.

"I work Special Victims. I don't judge victims for crimes. I'm just glad you survived."

Toby watched the water overflow the pan, flipped off the tap and turned to face him. "They really do train you guys to say the right thing."

Irritation pressed Elliot's brow. "It's not a script." He took a step forward but left Toby his space. Very sensitive. "Of course I want to know every fucking detail so I can arrest the sonovabitch and get him convicted, but I'm guessing that isn't what you need from me." He paused, a little gap for Toby to disagree if he wanted. He didn't, and Elliot went on. "You know I'll listen if you ever want to talk about it, but I'm also guessing that's not right now."

Toby shook his head.

"This smells incredible, Toby. How about we just eat?"

Toby bit his lip. "Sounds good."

Elliot took the plates to the table as Toby leaned against the counter, getting his breath back. Easy as that.

Once again, Toby was in deeper, instead of sending Elliot screaming into the night, and Toby wanted to kiss Elliot for being such a good guy and curl up in his lap to share a few more secrets. He needed to send him running before Elliot started counting anniversaries.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot drove home on autopilot and parked out front and he got out of his car and he leaned back against the door. He was shaking. What was he supposed to do now? Just go upstairs and crawl into bed and sleep?

Toby had been branded.

Elliot wished he didn't have the experience to know, even from that brief glimpse, that that brand had been slow, careful work. Probably with a lighter and pen. Some Nazi prison scumbag had pinned Toby down and burned him, slowly and carefully. Likely the same scumbag that raped him. And if Toby had been marked like property then he probably hadn't been raped once, or twice, but systematically. Regularly.

All his sexual prowess was what he'd learned to survive.

Vomit bubbled up Elliot's throat and he choked it back. He pushed off the car and got as far as the sidewalk, took a right and started walking down the dark street. He'd barely restrained himself from putting a fist through Toby's shower tiles. All the protective fury he'd been reigning in all these years was swamped under the knowledge it happened to one of his own, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do. He wanted to storm into Oswald and tear the place apart until he found the Nazi son of a bitch and killed him.

Elliot walked up one street and down the next, laneways he'd never noticed in all the decades he'd lived here, barely seeing any of it but the cracks under his feet.


	19. Comfortable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 18, Property:  
> Basketball again, this time to first blood. Toby found out that Elliot likes sweaty sex. Toby swallowed his fears and let Elliot strip him completely, and then they had a nice bit of intracrural. So nice that Toby completely forgot what he was hiding, and Elliot saw the swastika brand on his ass. Elliot took it surprisingly calmly, as a good SVU detective should.  
> Of course, he wasn't calm really. Not at all.

They were crowded into a table so small Elliot had lost count of how many times they'd kicked each other, but Toby was right: these were damned good dumplings. More to the point, the kitchen was still serving.

So much for Elliot being there for Toby after he found out about the swastika burned into Toby's flesh. He'd walked half of Queens that night, burning off the rage he'd hidden from Toby, making plans to show Toby nothing had changed between them. Elliot had seen plenty of relationships broken by rape, by partners who compounded the shame with their fear or anger, and he wasn't going to be like that. He was going to get Toby naked the first chance he got and prove to him that everything was okay. 

It was a good plan, but he was drowned in work all week, and any free time he scraped up went to his kids. Elliot hadn't been able to balance his job and his family before. God knew what made him think he could balance his job, his family and a whole new relationship. Nothing had changed, after all.

They'd finally cleared tonight to catch up, but Elliot had been kept late finalising paperwork for an arraignment first thing in the morning. They couldn't postpone because he was going to have his kids for the weekend, and Toby was going to be cramming in quality time with Holly all week so she wouldn't be so bitter about him spending Father's Day with Harry, and then Toby was flying out. So midnight dumplings it was. And nobody was getting anybody's clothes off.

At least Toby didn't seem to be taking it personally. He'd been cheerful about the three separate phone calls pushing back the time tonight, and he'd had the first round of dumplings already ordered when Elliot finally squeezed into his seat.

Toby looked great, and Elliot wished he could blow off the day, spend tonight joking and flirting, proving everything was fine between them, but he was simmering with frustration. He still worked up enough to spill details about the case that had taken over his week. Toby listened with barely a word as Elliot ranted about the gaggle of spiteful teenage girls playing emotional games that would have raised Vito Corleone's eyebrows while their prime victim backed them all to the hilt. If he or Liv couldn't get her to talk, the girls would all get off without so much as a school detention. Elliot swallowed and stabbed another dumpling with prejudice. "They targeted her from the day she transferred in from Detroit. She's got her parents, her teachers and us, all lined up to defend her, and she's still protecting that tribe of bitches."

"Because it's safe." It was the first opinion Toby had expressed, and it stopped Elliot cold. Had he listened to a word Elliot said?

"It's not safe. The things they've done to this girl... And it's going to get worse."

Toby frowned, searching for words to articulate something he obviously thought Elliot couldn't understand. "Familiar is safe. Being told what to do is safe. When you're alone and you don't understand the rules and there's danger on all sides, having just one tormentor to focus on, one set of rules to follow... it makes life easier."

Oh. Elliot's fingers tightened on his chopsticks as the glimpse of Toby's brand flooded back, and the cold horror of all its implications. Elliot hadn't had any words to make it all right, just the rising tide of anger, hadn't been able to do anything but hide in the shower as he tried to calm himself down so he could go back out there and not let Toby see his blood boiling.

Lightly, Elliot asked, "You're comparing middle school to hard time?"

"You wouldn't?"

Elliot didn't want to have this conversation. He'd promised himself he'd be here for Toby, but he wasn't ready to hear all the excruciating details, just another case except this was Toby's life. It had been hard enough last week resisting the urge to bloody his knuckles in Toby's shower. "It's easier to get into the head of a prison psychopath than a fifteen year-old girl."

Toby's smile was weak.

Elliot picked his words carefully. "You want to help me understand?"

He looked like he really didn't want to talk about it at all, but he swallowed a couple of times, and turned his head away. "It's easier to live that way, but the humiliation can kill you. One day you're sitting next to your rapist, watching TV with him like you used to do with your wife, and you realise you hardly care what's going to happen in your cell that night because it all feels so fucking normal."

"You were assaulted regularly." Elliot hadn't wanted to believe it, but-

Toby looked him in the eye. "I was a prag."

Elliot shuddered. That was one of those words you didn't say, ever, like 'nigger' or 'cunt', and he'd never heard anyone claim it for themselves. It wasn't a word for Toby. He could tell by Toby's grim smile that he hadn't hidden his repulsion, this time.

"I could have lived that way. Some part of me had resigned myself to serving my four to fifteen years just like that. I would have comfortably lived out my sentence as Vern's pussy bitch: shining his shoes by day, bending over at night."

Toby's rapist's name was Vern. Elliot concentrated on the word, a simple name, instead of all the words that came after, the sort of casual details that would reach out to take your throat, turn the dry facts to a technicolour, surround-sound show. The man who hurt Toby was called Vern. "It wasn't your fault."

He leaned back, legs bumping Elliot's, stared up at the ceiling. "I'd kill for a martini right now. Miller's if they've got it, with a lemon twist."

Elliot cocked an eyebrow. "I don't think this place is licensed."

Toby's tongue flicked over his lips. "Seems like this is the sort of conversation you're supposed to have over your fourth martini, as the bar's getting quiet. The lights low, a little buzzed. Confessing to some stranger because you're putting off going home to your wife."

Elliot couldn't be a cop right now, or a therapist. "Sorry. No gin. No wives." He wished the table was big enough to lean his elbows on. The food was getting cold, but he had no appetite for it.

"The trouble with normal is that sadists don't just want you to submit, they want you to hurt. It was humiliation Vern fed on, so if I was comfortable, no matter how fucked up that comfortable had become, it was no fun for him. He had to escalate. Again and again." Back on track with a bubble of words, and Elliot didn't want to know how Vern escalated from nightly rape.

"How long?"

"Eight months."

Christ. "How did it end?"

Toby blinked, coming out of the memory. "I got hopped up on PCP and tried to kill him and myself. Failed on both counts, but then they decided we shouldn't be cellmates any longer."

So that's how it felt to have your blood run cold. Elliot swallowed, and swallowed again. He tried to imagine Toby in a PCP rage. He couldn't do it, couldn't imagine Toby in any kind of rage at all. Elliot was really, really ready to talk about something else. "So you wouldn't recommend that course of action for my victim?"

"She probably wouldn't like her stay in the Hole. Or the withdrawal."

Another image of Toby that Elliot didn't want in his head: shaking and sweating in withdrawal agony in some concrete dungeon. "So what should I do for her? How does she recover?"

"Forgiveness."

"You've got to be joking." Whatever Elliot might have expected, it wasn't that. "Did you forgive Vern?"

Toby blinked, pulled himself back. "I... made peace with him. More than once."

Elliot didn't know what to say. He'd met a few people who'd forgiven their rapists. He'd always thought they were nuts.

"But I mean she has to forgive herself."

Bethany hadn't even got as far as admitting there was a problem. "That sort of forgiveness comes in time. I don't have time."

Toby turned his bowl, and pushed it away. "First she needs her power back. She has to get angry."

"You want me to make her mad?"

"A little anger's a good thing. It gets you on your feet when nothing else can. It's only bad when you let it run your life."

Elliot glanced up, wondering if that jab was for him. He braced himself for a lecture, but Toby was staring down at the remains of their dinner.

Anger had never gotten Elliot anywhere, except in the shit with Cragen, divorced, and at arm's length from people he cared about. Even so. He was proficient in making people angry. He'd try it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot drove Toby home. It wasn't exactly a direct route to Queens, but it was late and Elliot was hardly going to dump the guy in a cab at one am after that conversation. Elliot had talked to hundreds of victims over the years, but never anyone he counted as a friend. It had never felt this close. He wanted to stay, but he was already running short on sleep. He was going to walk Toby up to his apartment, at least, so he found a space to park and followed Toby up. His mind was running in circles around everything Toby just told him. The brand had been bad enough. Now Elliot had this in his head. Was all that literally how it went? Did Vern make Toby clean his boots? Did they sit around in the rec room and watch TV together? Or was that just Toby's way of glossing over the details?

Toby unlocked his door and Elliot blurted, "After everything that happened, how can you be so together?"

Toby's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious? I'm a thirty-six year-old with no friends, can't connect to my family, and I have my arms around my eleven year-old daughter to keep from drowning. I've bent over for I don't even know how many men in how many bathrooms just to feel something before I met you. How fucked up are you, if you think I'm a success story?"

"The way you talk about that stuff so easily..."

"You think it's easy?"

"There's no way," Elliot said quietly. In all his years of drawing out victims, he'd never admitted this out loud. "No way I could talk about that shit if it happened to me. I'd kill myself."

Toby just turned away and headed inside, left Elliot to follow. "No one would have done it to you."

"It's not your fault you were raped." He forced himself to use the word, to name it.

Toby dropped his keys, wallet and phone on the table, continuing like this was a casual debate about which teams were going to make play-offs. "Except for getting behind the wheel drunk off my ass and killing a little girl? No." There it was again, all Toby's shame thrown out on the floor for anyone to see. It was like the guy had no walls at all. "But I was weak - easy pickings. When I walked through those gates, I had prag written all over my face."

Elliot crossed to stand right in front of him. "Did you just hear what I said? If that happened to me, I'd eat my gun. You're standing here. You're a hell of a lot stronger than I am."

Toby sucked in a slow breath, staring down at the floor. All that casual confidence was suddenly gone. There was a long, long silence. "Don't you ever do it."

"I wasn't planning to-"

"It doesn't matter what a miserable shit hole your life can become. You don't have the right to do that to your kids. You have to love them more than you hate yourself."

That was the spider-thread holding Toby back from suicide? Holly and Harry? Elliot almost reached for his hand, but... No. There was something bitter here, actual history. Elliot started putting the pieces together. "What happened to Genevieve?"

For a long second, Elliot thought Toby was going to run. And then Toby slumped. "She locked herself in the garage and ran the car."

"Christ." 'Sorry' didn't seem big enough. "When?"

"It was eighteen months into my sentence." He finally looked up. "Don't worry. It wasn't one of those suicides where you're left wondering what happened. She sent me a letter to make sure I knew it was all my fault."

"Toby..."

Toby's eyes blazed. "Fuck her. I know I ruined her life; I fucked up all our lives, but I didn't make her do that. I didn't make her do that to our kids." Toby had forgiven his own rapist, but he hadn't forgiven his wife her suicide. Elliot wasn't sure he could blame him. No wonder Holly clung so tight.

Elliot curled his hands around Toby's arms. "Genevieve doesn't get to see them growing up. Maybe that's punishment enough."

Toby lifted his eyebrows, as if to say that wasn't such an unreasonable idea. He rubbed his neck. "I'm sorry. Look, it sounds like you're in for a long day of work tomorrow."

"I don't have to-"

"I want to be alone."

Short and sharp, and Elliot tried not to feel the sting. "Are you going to be okay alone tonight?"

"I'm home alone plenty of nights. But thanks for asking." Sarcasm laced the words, made Elliot want to take the hint and leave, but he made himself ask.

"I'm just... You're not going to do anything stupid, right?"

Surprisingly, that lifted Toby's mood a little, almost pulled a smile. "No alcohol in the house. No plans to go searching for speedballs or hookers. I just want to shower and go to bed. But really - thank you for asking." He squeezed Elliot's arm.

And then Elliot remembered Toby was spending next weekend with Harry in San Diego. "It's going to be a couple of weeks before I see you." That felt like a long time. Elliot tugged him close and hugged him tight, relieved when Toby hugged him back, strong and solid for just a moment before Toby pulled back. Elliot slipped a hand behind Toby's head and kissed him hard, lingered on his mouth. He needed Toby to know he didn't feel anything less. "I should get going."

Toby's eyes were wide. "You should."

One last kiss. "You ever need to talk, Toby, you call me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot rubbed the rain out of his hair, wishing they had time to stop at the precinct to dry off. One day he'd think to keep a towel in the car for days like this. The phone picked up. "Hey, Toby, sorry about that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you at work." There were people chatting in the background, but they faded until it sounded like Toby was alone.

"Don't worry about it, I'm free now, and Liv's driving. How's your weekend working out?"

"Olivia's with you?

Elliot looked over. "Yeah." He wondered if making this call in Olivia's hearing counted as trusting her, the way Toby nagged him to.

"Is she eavesdropping?"

"Hard not to."

"I'll try not to talk dirty."

Elliot hoped she wasn't reading his squirm. "I'd rather hear about Harry."

Toby was kind enough to let that go. Elliot could see him shifting to get comfortable, maybe adjusting his glasses. Toby was always wearing his glasses when Elliot pictured him on the phone. "He's good. We're doing all right. It's good seeing him here. I feel like I'm getting to know him better - Harry at home, instead of Harry the guest, you know?"

"I get it."

"He and Frances - his cousin, who lives nearby - get along great. I wish he and Holly had that."

Elliot nodded. He wished it, too. "What have the two of you been doing?"

"Harry's been playing tour guide. We spent most of today at the beach."

Elliot wanted to make some witty, flirty comment about Toby in swim shorts, but Olivia was still sitting beside him, pretending to concentrate on the traffic. Wet swim shorts, water beading on sun-kissed skin... More like very, very pale skin. "The beach? When's the last time your skin saw sun?" He didn't look at Olivia.

"1997."

"Did you wear sunscreen?"

There was a telling pause. "Eventually."

"How bad is it?"

"I'm probably not going to enjoy the flight home."

Elliot chuckled.

"Jonah and Marta and I had a long talk last night."

"Was it bad?"

"No." Toby sounded like he was still surprised by that. "A little, but it helped. We should have done it a long time ago. They don't do things the way I would - they're older, Jonah's military born and bred - but they're good parents. You can see it in Harry."

"What did you figure out?"

"I'm going to talk to them before I buy Harry large gifts. They're going to let Harry have a cell phone, so I can keep in touch with him."

"That's good." Elliot was glad he wasn't the one compromising on what he could give his own children.

"I'm going to try to fly over in September for his birthday, if I can swing it. I'll get to meet his friends." Toby sounded genuinely happy, to Elliot's relief. It was about time something went right with Harry. 

"That's great."

"How about you? Are the kids still squabbling over which restaurant for Father's Day?"

"The sun's supposed to come out tomorrow, so they're taking me on a picnic. Some basketball, some frisbee, no queues, no waiters. It was Dickie's idea."

"Sounds great."

It sounded perfect. A hell of a lot better than five people crowded in a restaurant. 

A little more, and then they wrapped up the call and wished each other a good Father's Day, and Elliot tipped his head back against the seat.

Olivia gave him a sideways look. "You're smiling."

Elliot smiled more. "Yeah."

"This doesn't seem like beach weather." She bumped the wipers faster, as if to make the point.

"He's visiting his son in California."

"I thought his son died?"

Elliot hadn't told her much about Toby. "That was his oldest. This is Holly's younger brother. Toby's in-laws raised him since he was a baby, so Toby left him in their custody."

"That must be hard for him."

"I feel like I've lost my kids living three streets away. I don't know how Toby does it."

She looked over. "It sounds like the two of you are getting serious."

So it wasn't just him noticing that. The long-distance calls were making him miss Toby more. "I guess we are. Did you think it would just go away?"

"I didn't know what to think."

"I did. Me and a guy? An ex-con? It's ridiculous."

She couldn't help smiling at that. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Just you."

Olivia pulled up at a red light and looked over. "What about Kathy?"

"No way."

"If this is serious, you'll have to tell her some time."

"Yeah, well. Today isn't that day." Elliot hadn't even figured out how to start that conversation. 'Hey, Kathy, I have sex with a man, now. What time is that parent-teacher conference?' "Light's green." If this was serious, there were other issues to deal with, too.

Olivia turned her attention back to the road, and wisely dropped the conversation.

The idea of his family finding out was starting to prey on his mind, though it still rarely started with him telling them. It was always Kathleen catching him with Toby in a restaurant, or Kathy just knowing with some psychic wife intuition. And then he had no idea what came next, except they'd want him to explain something he couldn't. Never mind the rest of the conversation. Not just a man, Kathy, he's an ex-con. And a junkie, but you should trust him because I do. I know how much you love it when I tell you not to question my judgement.

Olivia at least knew when to leave it alone, most of the time.

For the hundredth time, Elliot wished he could tell her something of what Toby told him last week. He wanted her to know what Toby had been through, so she could give him some kind of reassuring speech that he was doing the right thing by hanging back and pretending that everything was fine, that he didn't see Toby's stories echoed in half their victims, that he didn't want to sneak behind Toby's back to find this Vern guy and murder the hell out of him.

Though there was something about the way Toby had talked about him - the tenses he used, or maybe it was just the lack of rage - that made Elliot suspect the man was dead. That was the main thing keeping him from running off half-cocked into Toby's Oswald records. Elliot hoped Vern was rotting in hell.

Elliot's fists hurt. He slowly uncurled them, one finger at a time. He wanted Olivia to know what Toby had been through, so she'd know how incredible he was. Because yeah. This was getting serious.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby laid out his clothes for Sunday and started folding everything else to go back in his bag. One last day with Harry, and this time tomorrow night he'd be checking in for his flight home. Father's Day, and they were all going to pretend Harry hadn't celebrated it with Jonah every year until now.

He hadn't realised how exhausting this trip would be: a whirlwind of tourism, playing the perfect dad like he was performing for an Oscar, and even after Harry was in bed it was a tightrope walk of polite conversation with Jonah and Marta that almost made him long for the simplicity of prison relationships. In Oz, either the other guy was trying to kill you, or he didn't give a shit about you, and either way he'd tell you to your face. Unless he was playing a long con, and then what could you do? You wouldn't know it until you found yourself encased in plaster, having your ass wiped by a hospital orderly.

He stuffed the plushie seagull from Belmont Park in the corner of his case for Holly. He missed her like crazy. And Tobias Beecher knew crazy.

Parenting never felt like a performance with Holly. It was the two of them against the world. She forgave his missteps and coached him through when he hesitated. But good parents didn't play favourites, so he tried even harder with Harry, felt like an even bigger fake.

Tomorrow Toby and Harry were heading out on the bay, and Toby was looking forward to that. Without Holly in the mix, Harry was friendly and smart, on his best behaviour just like Toby. Toby genuinely liked him, even if he felt lost around him. At least with Harry, Toby knew what he was supposed to be trying to do.

This whole weekend, a piece of Toby's mind had been worrying away at the problem of Elliot. Seeing the brand hadn't pushed Elliot away, and feeding him more details of life with Schillinger just seemed to bring him closer. Maybe Toby needed to tell him about gift-wrapping Adam Guenzel for the Aryans before Elliot would grasp that Toby was no lily-white victim. 

The trouble was, Toby was losing his will to shove Elliot away. He liked Elliot. He liked having someone who'd call to check in on his weekend with Harry and he liked the overly-gentle sex and he liked being held by someone with stronger arms than an eleven year-old girl. He wasn't using Elliot anymore, he was just... dating him.

He wasn't Chris. There wasn't the fire, the obsession, the need - the love - but maybe one relationship like that was enough for a lifetime.

Enough for Toby, maybe, but didn't Elliot deserve better?


	20. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry, thought I'd posted, but I'd just left it at a draft...
> 
> Previously, in chapter 19, Comfortable:  
> Elliot was drowned in work, and they had to squeeze in late-night dumplings to catch up. Elliot ranted about a bullying victim until Toby cut in to explain. And so Elliot finally learned about Toby's months as Vern's prag. Elliot tried to tell Toby how strong he was, but that just led to the next bomb, that Toby's wife committed suicide.  
> Toby spent the weekend in San Diego with Harry, which, without Holly, and sunburn aside, was more successful than the last. It was nice, even with the strained relationship with Gen's parents, and the insurmountable distance between Toby and Harry.  
> Elliot and Olivia agreed that maybe this was becoming a serious relationship.

Another flight crew came through the gate, pressed uniforms and gossip. Business travellers darted through the waiting crowd with their onboard-sized wheeled luggage. A random assortment of people came through, eyes darting over the crowd until they were barrelled up with hugs and kisses by waiting families. Elliot's eyes lingered on those ones: an old couple set upon by eager grandchildren, a pair of unmistakable sisters clutching each other and laughing, a woman greeting a man with a long, deep kiss. The easy, unselfconscious affection made him smile.

Elliot was just starting to check his watch when he spotted Toby coming through the security doors, looking exhausted but at peace. He was a little pink, but his sunburn didn't look painful. That new shirt set off his eyes. He looked good to Elliot.

Toby wasn't checking faces in the crowd. He just lifted his gaze towards the overhead signs and headed for the carousels. He didn't see Elliot until he was right in front of him. "Elliot! You made it."

"Did you doubt me?"

"Yes."

"Me too." After a moment's hesitation Elliot hugged him. He'd just watched twenty people hug their friends and family hello without questioning any of their motives. Toby's arms wrapped around him, a moment of warm strength and a brief waft of his scent, and then Elliot led the way towards the luggage. "Your sunburn's not so bad."

"You haven't seen my back." Toby quick-stepped around a couple of other passengers to grab a duffle off the conveyer belt, swung it up on his shoulder and grimaced.

Elliot gently lifted it off.

"You really didn't have to do this."

Elliot pointed at a familiar-looking suitcase and Toby nodded, and this time Elliot collected it, extending the handle before passing it over. "One advantage of a job that calls you in at 3am is that the boss gives some leeway on the occasional personal business. Beats wasting cash on a taxi, and now I don't have to wait to hear the details." Toby was going to have Holly for a week, and Elliot didn't want to wait that long to spend time with him.

As it was, there wasn't going to be time for... well, anything. If traffic was good, they'd have maybe twenty minutes in Brooklyn before Elliot had to head for the precinct, and that wasn't long enough. Elliot had spent a lot of the weekend thinking - a lot of the weekend jerking off - and he was ready to expand his horizons. He'd put some serious thought into putting his mouth on Toby's cock, and he'd come hard thinking about it. He wasn't sure how well he could do it, but he wanted to. But Olivia was right about this getting serious, and that meant there was going to have to be a serious talk first, and Elliot wasn't looking forward to that half so much as learning to give Toby a good blow job.

This was a trail of thought that definitely hadn't been on his radar last new year's.

He led the way out to the kerb, popping the trunk and shrugging off Toby's look. "I don't exploit my badge that often, but to hell with airport parking." At least the rain had stopped.

He'd been thinking about the other stuff too. The fucking. That was a whole other ballgame: not so much 'thinking about' as 'desperately hoping Toby would never ask.' He'd tried it with Kathy once, a long time ago when they still tried new things. They'd both had a little to drink when she rolled her ass against his cock and suggested it. So they tried it but it hurt her and Elliot stopped, and neither of them ever brought it up again. The appeal of anal sex was a mystery, and thirteen years of SVU hadn't tempted Elliot to solve it. He hoped Toby wasn't planning to ask.

Even so, his eyes drifted to Toby's ass as Toby leaned over to shove his bags in, denim stretching over his cheeks. Elliot wanted a handful. What they'd done the other week, bodies fitted together, Toby fucking Elliot's thighs, that had been good. He was going to have to hope that would be enough for Toby.

Toby straightened and gave him an odd look, and Elliot smiled, headed for the wheel. As soon as Toby climbed in, he asked, "Don't make me wait. How was it?"

Toby smiled, slumping his head back on the seat. "He's a great kid. Loves being outside on his bike or his skateboard. We took a cruise of the harbour yesterday, and he was a better guide than the kid they were paying. He knew everything I could think to ask about the navy ships and the submarine base."

"Budding sailor?"

Toby's smile faded a little. "Jonah was in the navy. Vietnam to the first Gulf War." There was a telling pause. "It's good that they're close."

Elliot was doubly glad he'd swapped his shift to get this time with Toby. He held off as he merged onto the Belt Parkway, pulled in ahead of a truck. He'd felt this speech forming in his head since the phone call, and for once he knew where to start. "It took a long time to make peace with the idea that Kathy's going to date, maybe find someone else to be with, but I think I'm there." Mostly there, at least. "I hope she finds someone who'll treat her better than I did." He could feel Toby was listening, wondering where this was going. Elliot didn't volunteer this stuff easily, but he'd been thinking about it a lot, lately. "I may be ready to let go of Kathy, but it scares the hell out of me, the idea of some other guy living with my kids. I don't want them to look at him and realise they could have done better for a father." Elliot looked over, and was relieved to see he'd hit that nail dead on. "So Toby, if you want to choke the shit out of Jonah, I totally understand."

Toby smiled and shook his head. "I'm grateful for all he's done for Harry."

"It's okay to hate him a little."

Toby stared out the window, hiding his face. "I'm grateful. But does he really have to be a decorated Rear Admiral with a loving wife, a booming ship repair business and his own yacht?"

"He has a yacht?"

"Just a little thirty-four footer he fixed up. Next time I visit, they'll take me sailing."

"Hell with you, I hate him."

Toby snorted. "He's sixty-seven years old and he runs three miles every morning. His hair isn't even thinning."

"Asshole."

Toby laughed aloud, and Elliot felt like he'd won some kind of prize. "I can't wait to see Holly. This is the longest we've been apart since I got out."

"Did you talk to Harry about her?"

"I didn't try. I thought maybe it was worth having one weekend of just getting to know each other."

"Probably a good idea."

"I tried to talk to Jonah and Marta, but they won't hear it either. They can reel off every awful thing Holly said to Harry. They don't see how cruel it was for Harry to make fun of her for being frightened at Ripley's."

Elliot understood that protective streak for your own kids, but he was developing a protective streak for Holly, and thought maybe Toby should remind them she was their granddaughter as well. He decided it would be more helpful to keep his mouth shut.

"The best news is we've worked out I can have Harry for ten days in July. We'll stay with Mother, and Angus is going to bring his family down for some of it."

So plenty of buffer between Holly and Harry. "That's great, Toby."

They made good time to Park Slope in the post-peak hour traffic, and this time Elliot shouldered Toby's bag before Toby had a chance, and waved him to go ahead and open the door. He dropped it beside the couch and - at last - pulled Toby into a kiss, careful of his sunburn.

Toby gave it back, half-hearted and only for a moment. "You should be getting to work."

Elliot checked the clock on the wall, and fought the urge to be overly-optimistic. "I've got fifteen. Let me see your burn." He started sliding off Toby's clothes as Toby resisted, uncertain.

"You aren't worried about showing up at work looking like you just had a quick fuck?"

"You can try not to ruffle my hair. Hell, Toby!" He ran his fingers lightly over glowing red skin, chest even worse than his back. "This has got to hurt."

"Only if I touch it. Or move. Or wear clothes."

No wonder Toby wasn't grasping for a chance to rub up against him. "I'm guessing you don't have any aloe?"

"Marta made sure I did."

"Come on. I'll rub it in for you."

"I'll get it."

"Your back?"

"You're going to be late."

Elliot rolled up his sleeves and tucked his tie into his shirt. "I'll be late if you don't hurry up."

Toby gave a put-upon sigh and dug through his bag.

"Get your pants off." With a wry look, Toby stripped to his boxers. The sharp line between red and white at Toby's waist and knees would have been comical if it hadn't looked so painful. Elliot squeezed out some of the sticky cool lotion and smoothed it over Toby's shoulders, too hot under Elliot's touch. Toby sighed, and Elliot moved slower.

He pressed his lips to the hot skin of Toby's neck before smoothing the lotion over that spot. "Missed you." He pressed his cheek against Toby's burning bicep and then slid lotion down his arm. "Been thinking about touching you just like this. And more."

Toby's body swelled with his next breath.

"I've been jerking off like a teenager."

"Funny, 'cause I've been picturing you jerking off like a teenager."

Elliot grinned as he slid aloe across Toby's upper back and down, sweeping strokes down past that sharp red-white line to the top of Toby's white ass, enjoying the sigh of pleasure as Toby's stinging skin cooled. He circled around, squeezed another good-size dollop of aloe into his hand and stretched the waistband of Toby's boxers to peek inside. "Looking pretty hot in here."

Toby gasped as the cool lotion slid over his half-hard cock and Elliot jumped on the chance to slide his tongue inside his mouth, trying for promising and dirty as his slick fingers traced all the bumps and seams of Toby's cock, smoothing over the head.

Toby's hands clutched at Elliot's shoulders and Elliot pulled back, checked the clock. A few more minutes. Just enough time. More lotion, over Toby's chest this time, circling his pecs and catching the sharp point of his nipples, over abs that were less defined but just as firm as Elliot's own.

"El..."

Elliot dragged Toby's boxers down to catch under his ass and stay there, letting Toby's erection bob free and then he caught it with both hands, burning skin a contrast to the aloe cooling his fingers. "Try not to come on my clean shirt." He'd stay on this side, so Toby wouldn't be tempted to cover that brand.

Toby snorted and then gasped, so Elliot twisted his hand again, let Toby's hand cover his to guide him, teach him how to get straight to the point. Elliot squirted on a little more aloe and they both paused at the sudden cool.

"I'm going to need to save some of that for my back."

"There's a pharmacy on the next corner."

Toby kissed him and Elliot led him lead. He loved doing this to Toby; all these soft moans had Elliot almost as hard as the slick sticky cock in his hand. The way Toby's hips pressed to meet him, the grip tightening as Toby lost his concentration on kissing, tight fast jerks until Toby was covering himself to keep from splashing Elliot's shirt as he let out a long, slow groan.

Elliot wanted to let Toby lean on him for a while, enjoy the aftermath, but the clock was ticking and Toby was covered in aloe. He dragged a kiss across Toby's lip and went to the bathroom to wash his hands, came back and tossed Toby a towel.

"What about you?"

"No time, I have to get to work." It was a terrible shame when Toby was almost naked, wiping off his cock with a dazed, sated look that had Elliot's blood pounding. Elliot adjusted his erection in his pants, wishing they had ten more minutes.

"That's crazy talk. Come on." Toby dumped the towel and pulled him towards the kitchen.

"Toby..."

"Sit up on the counter, I can't kneel with this burn."

"I can't. I should have left already."

Toby gave him an arch look, reached back and set three minutes on the oven timer. He reached for Elliot's fly, batting his hands away when he tried to stop him. He leaned close, almost close enough to kiss. "You're going to come in my mouth before that buzzes. You might even have time to zip up."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A week had passed since Toby got back from San Diego, determined to start cooling things with Elliot. His will had lasted all of five minutes and a handful of aloe. Since then, he'd swung between trying to compose a speech to let Elliot down gently, and thinking he shouldn't sabotage one of the best things he had going. He'd put the decision off by being busy whenever Elliot was free, but he'd finally cracked and invited him over for dinner. He missed his company.

Toby just made sure Holly would be home, so there wouldn't be any danger of repeating that incredible aloe-lubed hand job after the airport.

Elliot looked disappointed when Toby let him in and he couldn't smell anything cooking. "I hope you weren't waiting for me to come here and make you dinner."

Toby went and flopped on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "I've begged Holly into cooking, but she has to finish her math first."

Elliot hung his jacket over a chair, then turned it and sat, a good family-friendly distance from Toby. "What are we having?

"I said as long as she cooked us a fish, it was up to her, so we're having Caribbean stuffed snapper."

Elliot laughed. "Of course we are. I'm not sure I could get my kids to taste that at her age, let alone make it." He nodded towards the book on the table by Toby's feet. "Are you getting a rabbit?"

Toby shot a look towards Holly's door. "She thinks if she convinces me she can care for it, it's going to magically appear."

"A rabbit wouldn't take up too much space."

Toby tossed him the book. "Page twenty-two."

Elliot flipped it open and his eyes bugged out. "What the hell is that? Is that photoshopped?"

"That's what she wants. A Flemish rabbit."

Elliot stared at the photo of a girl Holly's size with a rabbit she could barely get her arms around. "That's terrifying." He put the book aside. "You know, I bet Holly wouldn't complain if you got her a dwarf rabbit."

"Don't you start."

"Kathleen always wanted a rabbit."

"Did she get one?"

"Kathy said it was hard enough looking after the house and four kids, and I was welcome to buy the kids any pets I wanted as just soon as I cut down to a forty-hour work week."

"No rabbits, then."

"No rabbits."

 

Holly wandered out soon enough, said hello to Elliot and asked about his day. Toby could see Elliot was amused at her formality, but he played along.

"Do you like fish, Elliot?"

"As long as someone else digs out the bones."

"Bones are easy." Holly headed for the kitchen.

"You had court today?" Toby asked.

"How did you know?"

Toby gave him a sly smile. "You're wearing your very serious tie."

Elliot flopped the end around. "They always trust a man in a very serious tie."

Toby dug for a few more details on Elliot's day. The court case was going well. They'd also collared a flasher, who seemed to have caused a school class more amusement than distress, and a rapist Elliot caught five years ago had been denied parole. A good day, for SVU.

"How about you?"

Toby wrinkled his nose. "My parole officer dropped in to check out my place of employment."

"Aren't you a little far along for workplace checks?"

"I have a new guy. He's more enthusiastic about the job than the old guy." 'More enthusiastic' meaning grade-A asshole with a bug up his ass about Toby. Toby didn't bother to mention the home check the day he got back from San Diego. He stood and went to the kitchen threshold. "Do you need a sous chef, honey?"

"Nah, I'm okay."

He stayed where he was. He was willing to trust Holly with a sharp knife half an inch from her fingers, but he wasn't going to be out of sight while she did it.

He beckoned Elliot to the doorway as Holly laid the raw snapper out on the chopping board. Not the most normal thing for a father to be proud of, but he could feel Elliot's eyebrows rise as she expertly worked the knife along the length of the fish and spread it wide, snipping out the spine with scissors before gracefully slicing out the ribs. A quick go over with the tweezers, small fingers sliding over the flesh in search of stray pin bones, and done.

"I tried doing that once," said Elliot. "It took me forty minutes and I think there were still more bones in the fish than the trash."

"I could teach you," Holly said, seriously.

Elliot grinned. "I may take you up on that." While they watched Holly work, Elliot talked about a disastrous fishing trip he'd been on with a couple of colleagues back when he was in uniform. Toby couldn't imagine it, Elliot young and stupid, on a hare-brained trip without a single experienced sailor on the boat. Holly giggled hard enough at one point that she had to stop chopping the onion.

Toby stepped in occasionally to clear away dishes and scraps, but he let her show off her culinary skills.

Eventually Elliot took off his tie and popped a few buttons as the oven warmed them, and Toby got a little warmer. He didn't want Elliot to disappear out of his life. He wanted to squeeze in a quickie while Holly cooked, and then watch Elliot tell stories to make her giggle like this over dinner.

 

After Holly disappeared to bed, they both kicked back with their feet on the coffee table. Toby wanted to drag Elliot closer by his collar, or maybe slide a hand right into his lap, but Holly could pop out at any moment. That was supposed to be the point of having her around - daughter as cock-block.

"I take it Holly's forgiven you for visiting her brother?" Elliot asked.

"She screws up her face whenever I mention it, but I'm getting her used to hearing about him. I've told her I'll be going back for his birthday in September; I'm trying to feel her out about coming with me."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"Yes, but I'm avoiding prickly subjects with him, too. I'm just working on connecting. It's good having a better understanding of his life - knowing his house, and some of the people he's talking about, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. I think that's why it's harder when they become teenagers. Suddenly I can't keep up with all the new friends, the new hobbies."

That was it again: Elliot understood. It was making it easier to put off doing the right thing. Toby stood and offered him a hand up. "Come on. Let's go finish tidying the kitchen." He held onto the hand Elliot had given him and led him there, around the corner for an extra layer of safety in case Holly came out, and then he backed him against the counter and kissed him, hands roaming over Elliot's back.

Elliot turned his groan into a heavy, quiet breath. "Missed you."

"Been wanting to do this since you got here." He kissed him again, liking that Elliot wasn't so shy about groping his ass these days. 

Sadly, that was as far as either of them were going to go. Toby wasn't about to hump a man while Holly slept in the next room, and he knew Elliot wouldn't either.

Chris would have. Toby would have had to fight him off. There were advantages to making the sensible choice.

He wasn't thinking about Chris anymore. Elliot was a great kisser, slow and sure, knew how to make Toby's cock ache without leaving his mouth.

They eased off reluctantly. Elliot's dark eyes gave a lazy blink, and his hand came up to rest on Toby's chest. A little hesitation as he licked his lips. "I stopped in with the doc this week."

That got Toby's attention.

"Just, y'know. A check-up."

"Is everything okay?"

"Seems so. I just... I work with a lot of dangerous situations." It sounded like a speech, like something he'd rehearsed. Toby guessed where this was going, and his stomach headed south. "Junkies. Blood. So I get tested regularly. I'm clear."

"All right." Toby waited, but Elliot didn't have the next part down.

"So I need to know if you... have."

"You're asking if I've been tested for STDs."

Elliot had tensed up, sensing danger. "Yeah."

Elliot was at risk because he spent his days crawling through scum to save people. Toby was just... one of the scum. And this was why he had no business dragging Elliot into his life in the first place.

A hand squeezed Toby's arm. "I'm not judging you. The way we're... We should have had this conversation already."

"Really? So you're okay that I've bent over for more guys than I can count?"

Elliot tried, but he couldn't hide the disgust. "It's none of my business."

Toby liked the streak of jealousy. It wasn't Chris's mad possession but it was something. Toby couldn't help poking. "Sometimes in that club, it was three or four guys in a night. I've done two at once."

Elliot stepped away, angry, but he kept his voice low, mindful of Holly. "Why are you telling me that?"

"You started the conversation. You should know what you're buying."

"I'm not buying anything. I just wanted to know if you've had a blood test lately. As long as you've stopped going to those places, and you're clean, it doesn't matter what's in your past." 

Of course it mattered. Could Elliot really be that naive?

Elliot glared, waiting for an answer, face falling as the silence grew. "You have stopped going there."

Toby stepped back into his space and purred, "What would you do if I told you I hadn't?"

"Leave." He snapped it out, no hesitation.

Not hurt Toby. Not hurt the guys that fucked Toby. He'd just be gone.

Toby put some distance between them, wondering what the hell he was doing. An hour ago he'd been thinking about holding onto this, and here he was, dousing it in jet fuel. "I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole." He'd been forgetting about all of this, hadn't he? It was all very nice and politically correct to pretend Toby's past didn't matter, but it did. All sorts of secrets could come back and hang themselves around Elliot's neck, and diseases were the least of it.

"No kidding." Elliot's voice was hard. "I had a scare, once. A suicide..." He shook his head. "I was on anti-retrovirals, puking my guts up for a month. Couldn't stand to touch Kathy, could barely hug my kids. Don't you dare try to make me feel guilty for taking responsibility here."

"I wasn't trying to..." It was hard to see any way he hadn't been doing that. All Toby had to do to get Elliot out of here was tell him he'd been fucking strangers all this time.

Elliot rubbed his head. "How about you worry less about whatever you think I think, and realise I'm saying I figure I might be okay with this thing going further?"

It should have been a turn-on, Elliot standing in his kitchen, announcing he was ready for fucking, but that was what Toby was really afraid of, wasn't it? Letting this run deeper and deeper until one day he poked his head up and Elliot was in love with some bullshit version of him. Toby the victim, Toby the rehabilitation success story. Not Tobias Beecher the murderer, Tobias Beecher the accessory to murder, Tobias Beecher the accessory to rape.

Tobias Beecher, who could do infinitely more damage to Elliot's life than a month's worth of HIV scare. Had prison made him a better man, or not?

"It's not like you didn't know I what I was."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"We're not going steady, Elliot. I'm not your next wife. We're friends who fuck. Sort of fuck." Toby saw the muscles in Elliot's neck jump, and he remembered how satisfying a righteous tongue-lashing could be. "Condoms are good enough for everyone else who bends me over; what makes you such a precious snowflake?"

Elliot turned on his heel and walked out, left his jacket behind, didn't even slam the door.


	21. Stalin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 20, Burn:  
> Elliot picked Toby up at the airport, which allowed a few minutes to hear about Toby's far more successful (though sunburned) weekend with Harry, and a few minutes of aloe-assisted speed sex. Elliot was ready for more.  
> Toby was trying to be ready for less. He put Elliot off until he couldn't help himself. Watching Elliot make Holly giggle as she cooked them a fish reminded him how much he liked having Elliot around, but then Elliot went all serious and commitment-ish with a responsible talk about getting tested for STDs, and Toby blew it all up.

The husband played with his coffee cup. "My family shuns her. Can you believe it?"

"It happens more often than we want to believe." Particularly in closed religious communities.

"She is my wife. How could anyone think that animals like that might lessen her beauty?"

They'd come to her home so Olivia could try questioning her again, but Elliot didn't hold much hope. In the hospital she couldn't bring herself to describe what they'd done to her: only whispered that they'd laughed as they did it, that they'd said unspeakable things. The medical report was detailed enough. They'd had her on her knees, taken turns raping her anally. Elliot had barely been able to look at the photos.

Usually he did better at keeping Toby off his mind when he was working cases like this, but it had gotten a lot harder since all the details of Vern's abuse filled his head. A week chewing on Toby's sharp words hadn't helped. Elliot had spent a couple of days barking at everyone at work, a couple of days silently chewing himself out, a couple of days missing Toby but sure as hell he didn't want another earful of that. He didn't know what the hell happened. He'd braced himself for an uncomfortable conversation, not for Toby to throw his sex life in Elliot's face, to tell him he was just another cheap fuck.

It was hard enough keeping Toby's months at Franco's out of his head. If it wasn't even in the past... No. There was no way, no way that a cheap fuck was all this was to Toby. No way.

Elliot couldn't be thinking about this shit while he was working. "Has she shared any details with you? Even seemingly insignificant-"

"She won't speak of it." He sat back, tugged his beard and then he sat forward again. "Do you know those filthy dogs gave my wife a disease?"

"I know." Gonorrhea.

The trouble was that whenever Elliot had himself convinced that Toby was lying about still going to Franco's, it left him wondering why else Toby would react the way he did, and this is where those thoughts led. Gonorrhea. Herpes. HIV. And whether Toby could have let things get this far between them without speaking up if he wasn't clean.

"I love her, and she pushes me away."

"I'm sorry."

"She wants a divorce."

Elliot had no comfort for that.

Olivia came down the stairs, looking washed out. She gave a quick shake of her head. Nothing.

Elliot stood. "If you need anything, you know where to find us."

He stood as well, head hanging like a man at the end of his rope as he escorted them to the door. "Thank you, detectives. You have been kind."

Elliot had to give him more than this. He touched his arm. "Be patient. Victims often lash out at loved ones. You're an easier target than... She can barely think about the boys who did it. It's easier to be angry with you."

"I know that."

"Just keep doing what you're doing, and eventually she'll realise you're not going anywhere."

He nodded, but didn't look comforted as he closed the door behind them.

Elliot just stood a moment on the landing, pulling himself back together. "Anything?"

"A lot of anger." Olivia left it at that, and led the way downstairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took two more days for Elliot to put on his big-boy pants and call Toby and convince him to let Elliot come over.

He knew Toby had demons. He knew the sorts of things rape victims did to themselves. He knew rapists sometimes left STDs behind. Couldn't a goddamn SVU detective have been a little more sensitive? He could have found a better way to start that conversation with Toby, that wouldn't have made Toby feel like Elliot thought he was used, or that Elliot was suggesting he'd walk out if Toby was sick. Whatever Toby said, Elliot didn't believe he still went to those clubs. He definitely didn't believe they were just friends who fucked. There was more going on than that.

Now Elliot was going to drag Toby somewhere out of his daughter's hearing and fix this. Elliot didn't like that Toby's sexual history contained multitudes, but if Toby thought that was a bigger thing for Elliot to get over than that he had a cock, he was delusional. And then if Toby didn't want to take care of his health for the benefit of having Elliot give him a blow job, then Elliot was going to make sure he did it for Holly, and he wasn't above using guilt for that.

Elliot passed a neighbour heading into the building, held the door open and exchanged smiles. Did she know why Elliot was around all the time? Today, he didn't give a damn. He climbed the stairs and knocked.

The door flew open and a rumpled Toby stared at him for half a minute before running a hand through his hair. "Shit."

"Hi?"

"I forgot you were coming."

Elliot felt his optimism falter, but ploughed on anyway. He was going to fix this. "It doesn't seem to be a good surprise."

"This is a bad time, Elliot."

Did Toby think Elliot was about to turn around and head back down when there was something wrong? "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Toby." Elliot put a hand on the door, slid a foot against it for good measure.

Toby huffed out an irritated sigh. "Stalin paid a visit. He's upset Holly, and I really just need to try to fix this."

"Stalin?"

"Starling, my PO. He's a fascist cunt, and he hates me."

"What did he do to Holly?"

"Elliot..."

"How about you let me in?" When Toby held on, Elliot added, "What do you think your chances are of getting me to leave?"

Toby hesitated, and then stood aside. The house was messed up, books piled on the floor, drawers half-open. The parole officer had done a thorough job. Holly's door was shut.

"Why was Holly- School vacation." Holly's school got out this week. "What did he do to her?"

Toby slumped. "He saw fit to tell her her father's a heroin junkie."

Elliot swung around. "He what?"

"Told her that it was only a matter of time before I went back to prison."

"He can't do that!" He understood messing around with a skel, but you left their kids out of it.

"He can do anything he fucking wants. He's a parole officer. I'm not filing a complaint."

"Then I will."

"No, you won't."

"I can do something about this!"

Toby gripped his arm, painfully hard. "Listen to me. You file one piece of paper about this, you make one call, and we're done. If you think you're angrier than me right now, you're a fucking idiot."

"So why are you just rolling over?"

Toby shoved him back, and Elliot saw a flash of that temper Toby had warned him about. "I won't do anything - anything - to jeopardise my parole. Do you hear me?" Danger in his eyes, but his voice never rose enough to be heard through Holly's door. "You may know how to pull strings with cops, but I know the prison system. I file a complaint, it's even odds I'll get jammed up. This is the guy I need to stamp my request to visit Harry for his birthday. I'm keeping my head down. Do you fucking hear me?"

Elliot didn't want to, but he forced his hackles down. He wished Toby wasn't right. "You've never mentioned any problems before."

Toby sat hard on the couch and Elliot followed, leaving a polite gap in case Holly came out to investigate. "Starling's new. Up 'til now it's been Luke, who was fine. Luke was probably derelict; I saw him twice, and he never visited me at home or work. I could have been shooting up and pillaging the town, and he wouldn't have had a clue."

"Could be why he's not around anymore."

"Could be. But after no one gave a shit through intensive supervision, and being bumped down to regular supervision in a few months was a foregone conclusion, I've got this prick crawling up my ass."

"What else is he doing?"

"Elliot..."

"Tell me."

"He wants weekly check-ins. This was the second time he's shown up here without warning. I told you about him dropping by work last week; you can imagine how much Emilio loved that. He's not breaking any guidelines; he's just a fucking asshole."

"I want to do something." Elliot wanted to go give the guy a lesson in intimidation. He wanted to at least pull Toby into his arms, but with Holly this close he couldn't even do that.

Toby rubbed a hand through his hair, with a longing look at the closed door. "Fuck him. All I want right now is for Holly to talk to me."

Elliot perked up. Maybe he wasn't so useless. "Getting kids to talk is my job."

"You're offering to interrogate my daughter?" That incredulous almost-smile was the best sign Elliot had seen since he got here.

They'd only had a few dinners together, but that was more trust than Elliot usually had when he started talking to kids. "I wasn't planning to use the wobbly chair and the bright lights." Elliot covered Toby's hand. "I talk to scared kids every day. Let me help."

Whatever else was going on, Toby wasn't going to fight against Elliot helping Holly. He slumped back in the couch. "If you can."

Elliot gave Toby's knee a squeeze, and went and knocked on Holly's door.

"Go away!"

"It's Elliot. Can I come in?" He didn't get another 'go away,' so he took that as an invitation and cracked the door. "Holly, are you okay?"

She was sprawled across the bed, her face red and blotchy and streaked with tears, long, blonde hair loose. Still no 'go away' so he let himself in, closing the door behind him and pulling out her desk chair to sit. There were more frills and lace in here than Elliot's girls ever would have tolerated, and a book collection to rival Toby's, but plenty of those were on the floor and all her drawers were open. Either Holly was messier than Elliot would have guessed, or Starling had been through here too. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She contemplated him for a moment. "He went through our apartment and all our stuff and even my room, and the whole time he was mean to my dad."

"That must have been awful, him going through your things."

She sobbed, and choked it back, swiping a hand across her eyes.

"How was he mean to your dad?"

She closed her mouth, half-tempted, half-afraid.

Elliot leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You can tell me. I want to protect your dad, too."

She dropped her head so her hair obscured her face. "He kept calling Dad bad words, and a sc- a scale?"

"A skel?"

She nodded. "I don't know what that is."

"It means criminal."

She sharpened a glare on him. "My dad's not a criminal! He made a bad mistake."

"I know. So you want to tell me why you're mad at him?"

Holly sniffed. "No."

"Is it because of something Starling said to him?"

Holly squeezed into a smaller ball and wiped her nose on her sleeve. That was a yes.

"Are you afraid he'll go back to prison?"

Holly sat up, dragging her damp pillow into her lap. "He's never going back!"

"I know."

"He kept saying horrible things, and Dad didn't say anything! He just kept nodding and saying sorry."

Ah. "Do you know that if he back-talks his parole officer, he can get into big trouble?"

"He never does with anyone. He's always sorry."

"Is that why you're mad at your dad? Because he didn't fight back?"

She shook her head, but Elliot wasn't convinced. Of course it hurt, watching her father humiliated like that.

"Did Starling say anything else?" Elliot paused, searching for a new approach. He didn't want to be the one to bring up the heroin. "Your dad's been through some hard things these last few years."

"I know."

"I think you know a lot of it, but maybe Starling mentioned something new?"

She gulped and looked up at him through puffy red eyes.

"Talk to me, Holly. I promise I won't be mad."

Holly brushed her hair back, and said in a small voice, "Harry told me Dad did drugs, and I called him a liar."

Elliot blinked. "Harry told you that?"

"Drugs are really bad."

"Yeah. They are." How did Harry know? "When did he tell you that, Holly?"

"When he came here. He said Dad took really bad drugs." She was looking at him hopefully now, waiting for him to deny it or make it okay somehow. Elliot wished he could.

"If you give your dad a chance, I'm sure he'll talk to you about it."

Holly squeezed her pillow in her arms, tearing up again. "Harry's always saying horrible things about Dad. I hate him."

"What else did Harry say?"

"He said Dad didn't care about us. He was always talking about Nan and Pop like they were so much better, because Pop was a war hero and their house is big and they have a yacht. Who cares about a stupid yacht?"

It was becoming clearer why Holly and Harry couldn't get on. "He must be very close with them."

Holly fought back fresh sobs, and Elliot struggled to follow between the gasps and the hiccups. "He said, he said, Dad was, bad, and he'd go back, back to, prison sooner or, or later, and he was, glad, Dad, went to, to prison, so he could, have them for, his parents."

Oh.

"He said it was, was Dad's fault, Mom is, dead."

Oh. Hell. "What do you think?"

She looked straight at Elliot, surprised out of her tears like no one had ever asked her before. "Dad's a million times better than Nan and Pop. It was worth waiting for him."

Elliot swallowed hard. "You should tell him that. I think it would make him happy."

She sniffed, a long, gross, snotty snort, so Elliot dug out his handkerchief and reached out to press it in her hand, waited while she blew her nose. She sat forward, finally seeming to trust Elliot now. "And it's not his fault Mom is dead. Harry wasn't there. He doesn't know anything. He didn't even know her. He was just a baby and Gary and I were the ones who found her."

"You what?"

Holly leaned in. "She killed herself in the car when we were at school. Gary and I found her."

She looked him in the eye and shoved it out there, so much like Toby. He'd already done the math - she must have been four years old when it happened. Four years old and staring at her mother's dead body. Elliot felt his own anger burn for this woman he'd never met. Hallmark didn't make condolence cards for that. 

"Dad missed us every day. He didn't choose to leave us, but she did. She didn't care."

"I'm sure she did, Hol-"

"If she cared she would still be here," she snapped, and he decided it was best to keep silent. "Stalin said he was going to make Dad's life miserable now."

Elliot put his elbows on his knees. "I know. I'm trying to help. I can't do anything about him saying mean things, but if he ever hurts your dad I can. And I promise I will." He hated that Toby was right about the danger of interfering. God knew Elliot had trampled over enough skels in his-

"Are you and my dad boyfriends?"

Elliot's mouth opened, and nothing came out.

Holly stared at him, waiting.

He had no plan for this. He couldn't lie. He didn't have the right to say yes. And boyfriends? "We're... friends." Lamest reply ever.

She cut him a dismissive look that said she saw straight through him. "He had a boyfriend in prison, you know."

Elliot was sure she wasn't supposed to know that, but he was still too tangled in what she'd learned from Harry to dance through hoops about Chris. How did Harry know Toby did drugs? "Did he?"

"Harry doesn't know that. His name was Chris. He was a robber."

Robbery. Elliot was learning things, too. It had to be armed robbery to put Chris in Oz. Though Toby was in there for DUI and vehicular manslaughter, so who knew? "Did your dad tell you about him?"

"Everyone thinks kids are deaf and stupid. Gran and Grandad and Uncle Angus argued about him a lot. They didn't like Chris."

Elliot would bet they didn't. "Did you ever ask your dad about him?"

Her eyes dropped away and she shook her head, the bravado gone.

"Maybe you should. Your dad doesn't think you're deaf or stupid."

She choked out another hiccup, plaintive as she asked, "Then how come he didn't tell me he took drugs?"

That was why she was angry with Toby. Elliot went to sit on the bed beside her, watched carefully to be sure she didn't mind. "The thing about dads, Holly, is above everything else, we want our kids to think we're strong. We need you to believe we'll always be around and we can fix anything. There's nothing more terrifying to a father than letting his kids see his mistakes."

"My dad is strong."

"I know. He's probably the strongest man I know."

She nodded, approving.

"But he's really sad that you won't talk to him. So how about I head home, and you wash your face then tell him all the stuff you just told me?"

Holly took a gulping breath, and nodded, and blew her nose in his handkerchief again.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me about?"

"No."

Elliot waited in case she changed her mind, but she just stared at her knees until he stood. "All right. It was nice talking to you, Holly."

"Elliot?"

"Yeah?"

"If you and my dad are boyfriends, that's okay."

On impulse, Elliot leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Thank you. We'll see what happens, okay?"

 

While Holly went to wash her face, Elliot went out to the living room. Toby jumped up from the table. "What did she say?"

Elliot kissed him on the mouth without bothering to double-check Holly was out of the way, could feel Toby's surprise. "Let her tell you. I'm going to leave you two to talk. But a couple of heads-up. She has us figured out." He tapped his own chest and then Toby's, watched a fresh wave of panic roll through. "And you need to worry less about what she's hearing from Stalin, and more about what she's hearing from Harry."

"Harry?"

Elliot tugged Toby's shirt and kissed him again. "And another thing. If you knew how wide her protective streak is for you, Toby... You'd be keeping weapons well out of her reach." That was maybe why he was walking out of here feeling pretty damned good, despite the troubles with Harry and the parole officer, and still being quietly pissed about the whole blood test conversation. Elliot and Holly were on the same side, and right now that felt like a formidable team. "When's Holly at your mother's next?"

"Friday."

"I'll be around then."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby caught up with Holly on the front step just as Mother opened the door.

"Hey Gran!" Holly kissed her cheek and bounded up the stairs to her room, milkshake in hand.

"You spill that on my carpet and you'll be cleaning it for a week, young lady!"

"Okay!"

Toby set down the carry-tray of iced coffees and the bakery box while his mother hovered, waiting to kiss his cheek and squeeze him in a hug. "You look good, Toby. What did you bring?"

"Holly picked lemon meringue."

"Good girl."

"She tried to convince me that the start of summer vacation demands two desserts, but I drew the line at one."

She put the box in the fridge and then led the way out to the veranda. They settled into the swinging chair, coffees nursed in their laps. It seemed like over the last almost-year they'd had all their longest talks out here: from the early months when the trees were bare skeletons frosted with snow, through the first buds of Spring, to this jungle of a garden, air scented by the nearby ocean and traces of his mother's familiar perfume. The flowers were in full bloom, the bees buzzing loud enough that they both had to raise their voices. It was the furthest place from Oz Toby knew.

"Is there anything you can do about him?"

Toby took a long breath of garden air. "I just have to bear it. It's the way the system works." It sucked, but it wasn't like Toby hadn't lived through worse.

"A parole officer has a lot of power. It worries me."

"Me too, but I'm already obsessively law-abiding. I won't make the same mistake again, I promise. I'm not going back."

She squeezed his hand. "I know. Is there anything that police-friend of yours could do?"

Toby swallowed his smile. Ever since Elliot's name had come up at that family dinner in March, she'd poked gently for information whenever she could. "It's best to keep him out of it. At least Holly didn't believe Stalin when he said I'll go back."

"Of course she didn't. She knows how hard you're working."

Toby sipped his coffee, cool and sweet. "Harry does."

"Toby-"

"I can't blame him, can I? He didn't even know who I was until I tore him away from Jonah and Marta, and three weeks later I was gone again."

"He just needs time. I wish we could have kept him closer for you."

"Mother..." He hated that he'd loaded so much on her. "It was a lot for you and Dad to take on two small grieving children, without a baby as well. Jonah and Marta have been good to him, and he loves them. You shouldn't feel guilty for that."

"He'll come home to you."

Toby didn't think he would. He still had his fantasy that Harry could be lured to a New York high school, but now he'd seen how much Harry loved San Diego, the beaches, his friends, how close he was with Jonah, Toby wouldn't have bet money on it. He wasn't going to tell her how much Harry thought he deserved prison, how glad Harry was to have Jonah and Marta instead of him. Though there were a few things that had to come out. "You know, it didn't matter that Stalin called me a heroin addict in front of Holly. Harry had already told her."

She sat up, outraged. "How the hell did Harry know?"

"Adults talk about things. He must have overheard it."

"How could Jonah and Marta have been so careless? All these years of shielding Holly and they're just-"

"Don't be too eager to climb up on that high horse, Mother. Holly knew about Chris from you and Dad."

Her mouth opened in horror, guilt chasing in close behind. He put an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry about it. It's probably right that she knows. But she seems to have built Chris into some kind of Prince Charming who protected me from all the bullies in there, so if we can just keep that illusion going, I'd really appreciate it."

"Of course. Goodness, Toby, I'm sorry."

He let that settle for a while, while he looked for a way to start the next conversation. This one didn't have a good way in. "We finally talked about the picture from her art class. The hand."

He felt her whole body tense up against him. "What did she say?"

Toby shook his head. He couldn't repeat it. She saw Hank cut Gary's hand off, and she spent eleven days waiting for Hank to do the same to her.

They fell quiet. Toby pushed off with his toes, made the seat swing a little. He'd found some kind of peace with the rest of it. Every terrible thing he and Holly talked about that night had been dwarfed in the end, when she put her arms around his neck and told him she thought he was really strong. He'd whispered the same right back to her.

Mother opened her mouth and hesitated, glanced at him and away. He'd learned to expect it at some quiet moment, once in every visit.

"No. I haven't been drinking. Thank you for asking."

Her lips curved. "Thank you." She sipped her coffee. "I'm thinking of selling the house in Vermont."

"Really?"

"We're never there. Harrison was the one who loved skiing so much."

Toby used to love skiing. Some of his earliest memories were from that house: his dad taking him down the bunny slopes; sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows as his dad built the fire in the main room; the Christmas when his mother told him he was going to be a big brother. He'd only taken his kids up there once, never had the chance to teach Holly to ski. He wanted to argue, but his throat hurt.

They watched a hummingbird drink at the feeder, and then wheel off through the garden. "What else have you been up to?"

He swallowed. Vermont wasn't his house to worry about. "Work and Holly. Talking to Harry on the phone. Same as always."

"No friends? You're not seeing anyone?"

Toby took a deep breath. He hadn't decided whether to mention what was going on with Elliot. He didn't want to, especially when Elliot was barely talking to him right now, but he didn't want to swear Holly to secrecy, either.

He missed Elliot.

"I don't mean to pry, Toby. I just want to know what's going on in your life. I wish you'd talk to me."

"We're talking right now."

"About Holly. Never about you. Would you even have told me you were having trouble with your parole officer, if he hadn't upset Holly?"

No, he wouldn't have. He hated how much he kept hurting her. "Elliot and I are..." eight years of prison hadn't brought him so low as to say 'fucking' to his mother.

"An item?" she prompted, looking up with a hopeful little smile in her eyes.

"Heading that way. Maybe." Toby had thrown some of his best ammunition at Elliot, and he'd come back. Come back, comforted Holly, let Toby calm him out of kicking up a stink at Corrections.

"Good."

Toby wasn't ready to believe she was genuinely happy about that. "I'm sorry I haven't found a nice woman to settle down with."

She pulled away, turning to face him. "Do you honestly think that matters to me?"

"I feel like all I do is disappoint you. I remember how you took the news about Chris, Mother."

"Are you really comparing that to this?" She put her coffee aside and twisted in her seat to face him, her knees bumping his. "When you admitted Chris Keller was your... Of course it was a shock that it was a... a man, but I could deal with that. What galled me was that you could turn to the man who broke your arms and legs. A man who could do such unspeakable things to other young men. That I will never understand, Toby."

Sometimes Toby couldn't understand it himself.

"So I all need is to know is, is this Elliot a good man? Will he treat you well?"

Toby huffed. "This time, if we're going to make comparisons, I'm the monster." 

She watched him carefully, and he was grateful she wasn't jumping in with a mother's reassurances of his lack of culpability. They both knew better than that. "Are you planning to hurt him? To trick him into breaking parole, stealing him away from his children?"

"No. I would never..." She could never understand Chris. "But..." Who else could he talk to? "How can I have any kind of relationship, when I can't tell him all the things I've done? Who I am?"

"He doesn't know you've been in prison?"

"He knows that. He doesn't know everything that happened, that I did in there. That was what you have to understand about Chris, Mother. Chris knew everything about me. Everything. All the worst things, and he loved me anyway. If Elliot knew even the tiniest part of the things Chris knew, he'd hate me."

"No, he wouldn't."

"If you knew all the things Chris knew, you'd hate me too. "

"That's ridiculous, Toby," she snapped, sharply enough to startle him. "You tell me, what could Holly do that would make you hate her?"

"Nothing! I could never-"

She squeezed his hands in hers. "You forget you're my son every bit as much as she's your daughter." 

It was different.

"Everything you fear for Holly, I've seen happen to you, and worse." Her voice was too high. "Are you so surprised I want you to hold tight to any happiness you can find? What else are you going to do? Wait for the next serial killer who takes a shining to you?"

"Mother!"

She put her hands on his face, and her eyes were bright. "Listen to me, Toby. You deserve to be loved. Don't keep yourself locked away forever because you think you don't. If you don't think you're worth it then be worth it. Be good to him."


	22. Licence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 21, Stalin:  
> Elliot's chat with a victim's husband made him re-think the STD conversation with Toby. Elliot rolled up to Toby's door, determined to have a more adult version of their previous conversation, but he arrived in the wake of Toby's asshole parole officer, who'd driven Holly to tears.  
> Holly and Elliot had a nice chat, in which it was established that Stalin was an asshole, that Harry knew about Toby's heroin habit, that Holly knew about Chris, and that Holly was okay with Toby and Elliot being boyfriends.  
> Toby and his Mom had a nice chat, in which it was established that she was okay with Toby having a boyfriend, as long as it wasn't another serial killer.

Toby opened the door. Elliot was still in his shirt and tie, but he'd left his jacket in the car. That meant he'd left his shoulder piece at work. That had to be a good sign. "Hi." Toby stepped back to let him in.

"Hi." The serious expression was broken for just a moment by a half-smile, and then Elliot came in. He was wearing his good grey shirt, dark under the arms from a hot day walking the streets in a suit. Toby was sure he could smell him as he passed, the clean masculine scent of fresh sweat.

Toby was still wearing his business shirt as well. He didn't want to look like a slob. He'd gone back and forth, had only stripped off his tie from work as Elliot was coming up the stairs, tossing it into his room when he finally decided he didn't want to look like he was applying for a job either. He just wanted to make up for being such an asshole.

Elliot hovered, more uncertain than Toby had seen him since their second kiss, so Toby took a seat at the dining table and waited for Elliot to join him in the nearest chair.

"How's Holly?"

"She's all right. She's at Mother's tonight." She was all right, thanks to Elliot, thanks to the long talk Toby and Holly had the other night. Other things were more complicated, but Toby and Holly had each others' backs. Toby would tell Elliot more about that later. First, he had some apologising to do. "Thank you for talking to her." He winced at how formal that sounded.

"Of course. Have you seen Stalin lately?"

"Not this week."

"If he makes trouble, call me."

"Elliot, I can't-"

"If he's set against you, he could be dangerous. I'm just telling you, if you find yourself in trouble, call me. I promise I won't go barrelling into the DOC with guns blazing."

"All right." He said it to quiet Elliot as much as anything. He didn't want to talk about Stalin. He put his fingers on the paper at his elbow and slid it across the table.

Elliot glanced over it, and up at Toby, surprised. 

"I have had regular blood tests, but I thought you deserved better than to take my word for it after the way I reacted."

Elliot looked down, taking in the clean bill of health with a few quick sweeps. It was all formal and serious, Elliot checking over a licence to exchange bodily fluids. A certification that Elliot could swallow Toby's come, or take it up his ass. Tonight, if he was willing to forgive Toby for being a prick.

There was more Toby had to say, before his conscience would let him go on with this. "I'm never going to tell you everything I did in prison. I'm not just a victim. I wreaked my share of damage on other people."

Elliot frowned down at the table, but it didn't look like he was reading the test results. Eventually he shifted his chair closer and looked Toby in the eye. "I was on the ground in Desert Storm. I know that's not the same." He lifted his hand to keep Toby quiet. "I know that. But it means I've done things, seen things, that I have to live with. Maybe I understand better than you think I do."

Chris had known the darkest parts of Toby, things Elliot never could. Elliot thought he knew Toby's darkness because he suspected Toby ordered the hit on Hank Schillinger. He had no fucking idea. But Elliot understood guilt. He understood the need to atone, the desperate wish to somehow leave the world better for having passed through it. He understood family. In some ways, Elliot understood Toby better than Chris ever could have. Maybe in the most important ways.

"All right." It was more than Toby had the right to want.

"Thank you for doing this." Elliot touched the test results, and pushed them aside, out of the way. "That club, places like it - you don't go there anymore, do you?"

"No."

"Or anywhere else? No loopholes - you're not fucking anyone else?"

It was rare that Chris echoed through Elliot these days, and here it was, all turned around, tangled in the memory of Toby asking Chris if he'd ever felt what they had with another man. Toby still didn't know if he believed Chris, and now he'd never know for sure. Elliot deserved better. "I'm not fucking anyone else. I'm sorry for what I said. I was embarrassed. I don't have a lot to be proud of, with my history, and you're..."

Elliot accepted the reassurance, but he wasn't done. "We're not friends who fuck."

"I'm sorry I-"

"I'm still confused about us - this whole thing - and I know we both said going in that we weren't sure, but that didn't mean - it doesn't mean - sex isn't, it isn't..." he grasped for a word, staring at a place somewhere over Toby's head, "...casual for me. It isn't just fucking. When I'm with you it means something." His eyes flicked towards Toby, and away. "I never cheated on Kathy. I've never had a one-night stand, I don't-"

"Never?"

Elliot turned his head further, embarrassed. "You and Kathy are the only people I've been with."

"You'd only ever had sex with Kathy?" Toby blurted. Elliot cut him a dark look and Toby raised his hands. "You're not supposed to be embarrassed about that. Now I feel dirty." He said it like a joke, but it wasn't. Toby couldn't count how many had touched him. He'd rolled around in the gutters and he'd liked it, and he was soiling a man who'd been faithful through twenty years of marriage.

"Toby..." Elliot finally looked at him properly, and now his eyes locked on. "If all that stuff you said last week was because of everything you've been through, that's okay. I'm a big boy. I can take it. But we're not friends who fuck. I'm not like the anonymous guys you were with in Franco's."

Toby really had fucked it up, if even a small part of Elliot believed it was the same. "You're not."

"I'm here because I want to be with you. You, Toby. I'm not asking for any kind of promise; I just need to know that it's me you're with when we're together, not whatever it was you were looking for with them."

Toby had given Elliot a taste of his own shame. Another good person tainted by Toby's touch, and it made him want to run far away. Except that never seemed to work, so now it was time to stay, and fix things. Toby stood, swinging his leg straight over Elliot to sit straddling him, and he cupped his face to be sure he had his undivided attention. "I want you, Elliot." That was the first truth. He didn't want a substitute Chris; he didn't even see Chris in Elliot anymore. He wanted Elliot. "I want you to stay. I want to make this work." He meant every word.

"I'm not trying to push you if you're not ready."

Toby dipped his head and made his argument with a kiss. Elliot's arms came up around his back, tugging him closer.

Toby leaned their foreheads together. "You need to know I'm a screwed-up ex-con with an authority problem."

"You should know I'm a straight cop with anger management issues," Elliot deadpanned.

"We have all the makings of a great buddy cop movie."

"No thanks. I can get away with the occasional car chase, but the captain frowns on explosions."

They shared a nervous smile. It seemed like this was a real relationship now. It was even a pretty healthy relationship, all the lurking icebergs of Oz notwithstanding. Chris had been a sociopath, and Toby had been a selfish drunk most of his years with Genevieve, so Elliot might have higher standards but it wasn't so bad by Toby's own record. Toby ran his hand over Elliot's chest, shirt still crisp, tie still straight after a day bringing justice to New York. "You really never slept with anyone but Kathy before me?"

Elliot squirmed. "She was my first, and after the divorce I never... I don't trust a lot of people."

Straight-arrow, loyal family man, who couldn't fuck someone he didn't trust, who saw something worthwhile in Toby. Toby whispered in his ear, "That makes you even sexier." He kissed Elliot's jaw, nuzzled his cheek. "You can't compare what I did with them to what I do with you. You make me feel like I deserve better than that."

Elliot ran his hands up and down Toby's sides. "You do, Toby."

Toby's throat hurt. He buried his face in Elliot's shoulder and hugged him, relieved when Elliot held him tight. Toby wanted this.

It was a long time before Elliot shifted, putting his lips to Toby's ear. "I'm meeting with my kids for lunch tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, I don't have anything before that. In the morning."

Toby leaned back to see the smoky look in his eyes. Elliot had never spent the night. "Are you trying to get me to cook you breakfast?"

"I wasn't, but now you've suggested cooking it, I'm definitely expecting something good." Elliot slid a hand down Toby's shirt to his belt, slipped it free and took his time opening Toby's fly. Light fingers teased his soft cock through his boxers, and Toby sighed his pleasure. If they had all night, there was no reason to rush. Elliot could touch him like this for hours if he wanted. Maybe one hour. Half. Elliot looked up from under his lashes. "Take off your shirt, Toby. I want to see you."

Toby could do that. He went for his buttons, matching Elliot's pace. Whatever lingering reluctance Elliot might have had about Toby's muscled body and flat chest was long-gone, and when Toby finally dropped his shirt behind him Elliot's hands skimmed over his skin, raising goose bumps. He cupped his hands around Toby's neck and smoothed them down, thumbs tracing his collar bones and then following over the muscles of Toby's shoulders, pressing his delts, his biceps, all the way to his hands, which he caught and pressed to stay on Elliot's waist. Toby could do that.

Elliot touched Toby's stomach, drifted his hands up through Toby's chest hair. A little rub of his thumb and Elliot watched Toby's nipple hardening, did the same on the other side, fascinated.

Here was Elliot, still dressed to work, tie up at his collar, and even - Toby leaned over to check, yes - even had his shoes on, and Toby was half-naked in his lap. This could be better. Toby murmured in Elliot's ear, "You want to see all of me, Elliot?" He stood and shucked his pants without ceremony and climbed back onto Elliot's lap, bare balls rubbing against Elliot's suit pants.

"God, Toby." Elliot's hands dragged from Toby's shoulders down his chest, around his hips to squeeze his ass, and then he took Toby's cock in a loose fist. His lips were wet, and he licked them again as he watched Toby's cock stretch in his grip. Toby wrapped a hand behind his neck and leaned down for a hard kiss, licked his mouth and caught Elliot's lip in his teeth a couple of times so when he sat back Elliot's mouth looked red and used. Yes, that was what Toby wanted. They'd traded test results, Elliot had said he wanted something more. So did Toby. Hand jobs weren't enough.

"I want you to suck me, Elliot."

Elliot's hand paused, but he didn't back away.

Toby pulled him closer, breathed in his ear, "Will you put your mouth on my cock? You've got such a pretty mouth, El. When I jerk off I'm always thinking about your mouth, what you could do to me."

Elliot's face pressed against Toby's neck, and Toby knew he was blushing. Loved it. He wanted to make Elliot blush while he was down on his knees.

"Will you do it, El?"

Elliot gave him a quick kiss. "Can't do it with you sitting on my lap on a dining chair. We gonna do this in the bed or on the couch?"

Elliot was going to suck his cock. All of Toby's blood rushed there. "Couch is closer." And probably easier for a beginner. Toby stood and pulled Elliot by his hand towards the couch, expecting him to start stripping his clothes. To Toby's delight he didn't; Toby shoved the coffee table out of the way and before he could sit Elliot slid to kneel on the floor in front of him, only a jacket short of being dressed to meet the commissioner.

Elliot licked his lips. "First time."

"I know." And yes, that was a massive turn-on. "Sure you've had experience from this side."

A smug little smile said Kathy had known what she was doing. "Yeah." Elliot sat back on his heels and undid his left cuff, methodically rolled up his sleeve like he was getting down to business. Other cuff, end over end to bare his marine tattoo, showing off those perfectly-formed forearms, and then he curled one of those big hands behind Toby's thigh, right under his ass, and he dipped his head and lapped Toby's cock, with a tiny frown like a wine connoisseur teasing out the aftertaste. Toby reached down to clutch the back of his collar, and then thought better and rested his hand gently on Elliot's head.

He hadn't had a beginner since high school. Elliot's mouth was clumsy and slow, and the only thing sexier than that was the way Elliot kept glancing up, looking for reassurance. So Toby gave it, praise and dirty words and promises.

_Sketch by Barbana_

Elliot's tie slid in the way and he flicked it aside, bringing his hands down to wrap around the base for control, thumb rubbing circles on Toby's balls. Confident hands and a curious, wet mouth.

The tie fell forward again and Elliot huffed, caught it like he was going to take it off, but then he just tucked it inside his shirt and put his hands between Toby's thighs to press them wider and wrapped his lips tight around the head of Toby's cock, and Toby moaned. That shirt and tie made this feel like serious business, like Elliot was putting all of his shrewd mind to work interrogating Toby's cock.

A tongue pressing under the head and then flicking back and forth across his slit, imitating all the things Kathy had figured out on his own cock, eyes lifting now and then to see Toby's face as he moaned.

Elliot tried to take him deep, sliding down until his body stiffened, half an inch too far. "Suck the tip, Elliot. That's what I like best. Yeah, like that." Elliot was mastering that fast. Toby liked being deep-throated too, but he wanted to make sure Elliot liked doing this before he started stressing himself out with advanced manoeuvres. Toby had learned fast in Vern's rough care, perfecting his skills to get Vern done as quickly as possible, and Toby was going to make sure Elliot's experience was as far from his own as he could. "So good, El." Toby let his hand drift gently over Elliot's head. "Wait, just a moment, let me..." Toby squeezed Elliot's shoulder and collapsed on the couch, bare-assed with his knees spread wide so Elliot could have a whole lot more access and Toby didn't have to remember to keep on standing.

Elliot skimmed his hands down Toby's inner thighs to hold his knees apart, watching Toby like he was waiting for instructions to get back to work.

"Play with my balls, El." Elliot drifted down and rubbed his bristled jaw over them, buried his nose in Toby's bush and breathed deep, no longer afraid of a face full of cock, drew patterns through his pubes with the point of his tongue, but soon his soft lips were back on Toby's shaft, gently working back up and over, closing tight. Hard lips and a curious tongue and the sight of Toby's wet cock sliding in Elliot's mouth made Toby wonder how he'd ever enjoyed the touch of all those strangers.

"Fuck, that's good. Yeah." He was already so fucking close, wanted to tighten his grip, wrap his hand around Elliot's collar to hold him steady as he jammed his load straight down his throat, watch him lick the last of it from his swollen lips; just the thought had Toby's balls pulling up, but Elliot wasn't ready for that. "Hold on. Hold on." A couple of seconds to get his breath, to look at clean-cut Detective Elliot Stabler and his debauched, cocksucking mouth, and Toby knew what he wanted. He remembered what Elliot liked. He pushed him back, following him to the floor and kneeling over his hips. Elliot yielded with a smile. He still had his fucking shoes on.

Toby scrabbled at Elliot's shirt buttons, finally tugging it wide open up to the collar and flicking the tie aside and he ran his hand down bare chest to stomach and then wrapped Elliot's strong hand back around his urgent cock. "This is what I want. Want to come on your skin right here. Gonna remember this and spring to attention every time you come through that door in your shirt and tie."

Elliot tugged him fast, grinning like a school kid. "Hell, Toby. Do it. Want to smell like you."

God. Words like that and quick firm hands and the manic arousal in Elliot's eyes and Toby's balls pulled up and he was coming with a long groan, laying white lines over Elliot's skin, the hair on his chest and his smooth abs, barely missing his nice shirt.

Toby knelt, panting, and Elliot rubbed his jaw. "That's more work than I realised." He dragged his fingers through the lines of come, rubbing it into his skin, carefully keeping his shirt out of the way.

And then he licked a finger, looking thoughtful. He smiled again. "Not so bad."

_Sketch by Barbana_

Toby chuckled, still half out of it on his orgasm high. He wouldn't have minded if Elliot just rolled him on his belly and drove straight into him, but that wasn't going to happen. And he didn't mind anything else, either. "What do you want, Elliot? Anything you want."

"I want to get off the floor." He laughed.

Toby pulled him up and kissed him hard. "Tell me how to make you come as hard as I just did."

Elliot kissed him back, gentle as always, smoothed a hand over Toby's hair. "I just want to be naked with you, Toby. I want to lie in bed with you."

"Sounds like a good place to start." Toby caught his tie and pulled him towards the bedroom. Still dressed except for the loose shirt exposing his sticky belly, smug smile on his swollen lips. Toby wanted to give him a reward, turn him inside out.

Elliot kissed him, just brushing lips, and Toby knew what to do. He kept the kiss going as he unthreaded the tie and dropped it aside. Undid the last button at Elliot's neck and stepped back to watch as he slid it off, hands following all the way over his powerful shoulders and down his arms. Toby tangled their fingers and kissed Elliot's throat, along his collarbone, all the freshly-exposed skin. Gentle and slow. Toby turned his head and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek against the scattered chest hair, feeling him swell with his breath. 

Delicate licks on his tits and chasing in between until he found his own taste on Elliot's skin.

Toby used to think Elliot's hesitancy was about being new to guys, or worrying about spooking Toby. But that was just how Elliot was always - he saw so much brutality in his job, he gave nothing but tenderness in sex. It made Toby want to be tender with Elliot.

Elliot was tenting his work pants, but content to let Toby take his time. Toby was already back at half-mast.

He nudged Elliot to sit on the bed and went to his knees, pushed Elliot's legs wide and dragged his tongue up that come-soaked belly, listened to Elliot's breath rush out. Toby went to work licking him clean, rubbing his hands up and down Elliot's thighs, thumbs running close to his balls but never quite there. Elliot slid his fingers in Toby's hair, wanting and patient.

Toby was the impatient one. He sat back and took off Elliot's shoe, worked off his sock, lifted his foot and pressed a kiss to the arch.

Elliot wrinkled his nose. "You sure you want to do that?"

"Smells fine." Not as good as his neck, or his cock, but he didn't have a stinky foot problem. Toby licked from heel to the ball and Elliot gasped and pointedly put his foot back on the ground. "Ticklish?"

"Get me naked, Toby."

"That's what I'm doing." Toby stripped his other foot, one kiss to the arch and then the sharp point of his ankle, pushed the leg of his pants up and kissed up his calf. Saw Elliot's fingers reaching for his fly and Toby put his leg down, pulled his hands away. "Let me." He unstrapped the belt, slid the button through, slid the zip. Licked the cotton stretched over his straining cock, won a groan.

"Toby..."

"Lift up for me."

Elliot lifted his hips and Toby took his pants and briefs in two handfuls, lifting carefully over his erection, dragging them all the way off in one go. Elliot reached for him and hauled him onto the bed, wrapping around him and kissing him hard, lining their cocks up and rocking. "What you do to me, Toby..."

Toby wished, with a sudden desperate ache, that Elliot would push Toby's knees to his chest and press his cock into Toby's ass. Or roll over and spread his legs for Toby. This felt good but Toby wanted to be closer, wanted to show Elliot how it felt when someone reached inside you, when you cracked yourself open and let them in.

Toby wanted to show him how it felt to let go of all his dignity and fall on his back, legs sprawled wide, Toby's cock disappearing inside him, breath hitching as he was banged, begging for more.

Elliot wasn't ready for that, five minutes after taking a cock in his mouth for the first time, but soon.

Toby kissed his way down between Elliot's legs, pulled one of Elliot's knees over his hip to spread him wide, and then waited until Elliot met his gaze to wrap his lips around that perfect round head and slide all the way down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sexy-as-fuck illustrations of Elliot's first blow job are brought to you by the most talented Barbana, barbanaqoc@hotmail.com. She gave me two options to choose from, but of course the only possible answer when choosing between Elliot/Toby blow job illustrations like this is 'both'.


	23. Lions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 22, Licence:  
> Toby showed Elliot his clean blood test; Elliot made it clear he wasn't here for casual sex. 'Cos he doesn't do that. Toby finally manned up and accepted that he wanted Elliot for Elliot. So I guess we can call this a relationship, now.  
> Elliot celebrated their new beginning and Toby's clean bill of health by rolling up his sleeves for his first blow job, which was tastefully illustrated by barbana.

They'd left the window open for air, and the sounds of traffic filtered up from the streets, city lights keeping the room from real dark.

Sharing a bed felt strange. They'd tried Toby on his back with Elliot curled against him and vice versa. They'd tried spooning this way and that, but they were both big men and it was July. Elliot had forgotten it could take a while to learn how to share a bed. They'd finally settled shoulder to shoulder, Toby's sweaty calf dangling over Elliot's shin, all but the sheet pushed to the floor. Elliot could have fallen asleep in two minutes flat, but it had been so long since he'd had this: a warm body to be with. He was fighting to stay awake because he didn't want to let go of tonight: the delicate mood of freshly-patched wounds, all the things they held private still close to the surface. 

Elliot wondered if Toby knew he'd forgotten to hide his brand tonight, as he dragged Elliot back to the bedroom.

He looked over; Toby's eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.

Toby felt his gaze and returned it. "Doing anything special this weekend?"

Elliot dragged a toe over Toby's hairy ankle. "Other than this?"

"With your kids. Fourth of July? Big holiday?"

"They always go to Kathy's sister's in New Jersey for a barbecue on the Fourth, but I managed to get nosebleed tickets for the Mets game tomorrow night."

"Nice."

Better than nice. A game and his kids. Throw in sex like this with Toby, and it would be pretty much a perfect night. "How about you?"

"Mother said we can get a good view of the fireworks from Manhattan Beach by her house, without the crowds of Coney Island. Though we might head down there during the day - apparently Holly loves Nathan's hot-dog-eating competition. I can't see Harry having any objection to that."

Elliot chuckled. "It sounds like your talk with her went well."

"We ended up crammed on her bed, talking until almost ten. Everything's good with her." His smile was bright, but it faded fast. "I've got some hard conversations with Harry while he's here." He sighed. "I looked around, but none of the parenting books tell you how to explain your heroin addiction to your kids."

In this quiet, close mood, it felt safe enough to ask. "When you were doing drugs - that was through Vern?"

"Yeah."

Elliot was slowly putting Toby's experience together, one detail at a time. Toby being an addict still made him nervous, but he couldn't judge him for using drugs to get through months of rape. There was no drug in the world that could have gotten Elliot through that. "I'm guessing that's not how you explained it to Holly."

Toby huffed. "No, I just stuck with 'really, really terrible'. She said she was glad I had a boyfriend in prison, as if that's what every little girl wishes for her father."

The private, still close to the surface. "What did you tell her about him?"

"I told her he took care of me, that he helped when I missed her and her brothers. That's true enough."

But not entirely true? "What was he like?"

"Elliot..."

"Tell me something about him. You know a lot about Kathy." Elliot didn't know if that was true, but Toby knew some things. Elliot didn't know anything about Chris. He pictured a skinny, geeky guy, maybe a little effeminate. Another sharp mind for Toby to latch onto in the sea of brutish cons.

Toby's body softened against him as he let the protests go. "He was different to you. He was stubborn, protective. Didn't like to let anyone know what he was thinking." He couldn't hide the affection in his voice. Toby still loved him.

"He sounds like me."

"Nothing like you," Toby retorted, voice suddenly sharp.

"All right." Elliot guessed he hadn't earned the comparison. "Holly said he was in for robbery."

"Holly said?" Toby moved to lean up on his elbow, but Elliot nudged him back down. They could talk about Holly and what she knew any time.

"I assume it was armed robbery, if he was in a maximum." Elliot held his breath, waiting for Toby to answer.

"He went off the rails after his last divorce-"

"He'd been married?"

"Four times."

More than Munch. Six months ago Elliot had thought mid-life conversion was a myth. Now it seemed like what all the cool divorced men were doing. "Did he have kids?"

"No. He was high, things got out of hand. He killed the store owner."

Elliot caught his breath. He hadn't expected murder. Not so much like Elliot after all.

"Enough, Elliot?"

Toby had loved a murderer. Another junkie. Elliot wanted to know more, but that was enough to swallow for now. He backed up through the conversation for something safer. "Holly really didn't care that you like men?" Elliot couldn't see his kids glancing over that detail.

"She didn't seem to think it mattered at all."

Elliot tried to imagine how he would have reacted if he'd found out his repressed Irish Catholic cop dad was gay. Not with a shrug: he was sure of that.

Toby tipped his head towards Elliot, voice teasing. "She said she likes you. She's glad I have a friend." He shook his head. He was getting his first taste of his own children treating him like a helpless kid.

They fell quiet. Toby was probably relieved that Elliot had stopped pushing him about Chris. Drugs and murder. A man who really belonged in that place.

"My mother's thinking of selling our winter house."

"You have a winter house?" Elliot forgot, sometimes, about Toby's fancy upbringing. Rich white collar parents, probably a staff to clean their home, and cook, and raise the kids. The whole family through Harvard. And now Toby was disbarred, an ex-con with a cop boyfriend. Elliot wondered how that would sit with Mrs Beecher. Probably better than a murderer. No wonder the family hadn't liked Chris.

"Yes, we have a winter house, near Lake Champlain. It was nice in the summer, too, but it was really for the skiing."

They talked about easy things until Toby's answers slurred and slowed. Elliot was halfway gone as well, but he held on. He'd slept alone for so long.

He liked being here, allowed into Toby's space, allowed to watch him sleep. Toby's mouth was hanging open, hair messed. The rhythm of Toby's breathing was different to Kathy's. The way he sprawled.

So now Elliot had blown a guy.

It was funny how that summoned up the memory of being at school the day after he and Kathy had sex for the first time. High on love and losing his virginity, bursting with the secret milestone. Obsessing with all the new things he'd learned: that it wasn't as easy as it looked in the magazines, that Kathy had a whole different kind of soft, sexy moan when he was inside her, that pulling out when you were ready to come was the hardest thing in the world.

This had definitely been easier. At least this time they both knew what they were doing, and they were both too old to be shy about talking. Toby had told Elliot exactly what he wanted and where: kiss me there, now suck me, please. 

Elliot had always thought balls were ugly, nothing like the beautiful folds women had between their legs. But he'd taken some time to nuzzle Toby's balls the way Toby had done for him, and he'd definitely changed his mind. Or maybe it was just Toby's balls, soft and cool and a shortcut to making Toby writhe.

Elliot liked how Toby's cock had swelled on his tongue and filled his mouth, the way Toby's whole body had shuddered around him, powerful thighs and rippling abs craving for more. Elliot's own cock stirred at the memory. There was going to be plenty more of that in his future.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby woke with a gasp, and a sigh. Twisted his head to see the clock: just past three. Another formless half-dream. He'd woken at twelve-thirty, and two. Between Toby's shallow sleep and Elliot's tossing and turning, this was going to be hard to get used to. It had been nine years since Toby last shared a bed, and he'd been a lot better at sleeping then.

Nine years almost exactly: happy anniversary on your conviction, Prisoner #97B412. It was about the last thing he wanted to dwell on tonight.

The room was stuffy with an extra body to keep it warm. Toby poked a foot out from under the sheet, turned his head to watch Elliot's frowning profile, the rise and fall of his chest, his hand twitching on the sheets bunched at his waist. 

This whole thing wasn't fair to Elliot, but right now, Toby didn't give a fuck. This beat waking up to an empty room.

Toby slipped out and went to piss, dazed and wired, considered flopping on the couch to watch TV until his mind settled, but that never worked. Besides, it seemed like a waste, when there was something much nicer to watch in his bed.

He crept back in, hit hard with the scent of spunk and sweat filling the room. It smelled like lockdown.

That had been two weeks of... if not happiness, then contentment, at least. Safety. Love with a heaped helping of passion. In between the sex - and there'd been plenty of that - Toby had set himself on the task of separating out pieces of the real Chris Keller. He really did have three ex-wives, with Bonny signing up twice. He'd still loved them all. He'd known how to play chess long before Toby tried to teach him - and that had been a revelation into Chris's mind: how sharp did you have to be, to feign the curve of learning chess?

In the gloom, Elliot might have been him.

He wasn't. No plots, no subtext, no hidden agenda. Plenty of confusion, but no manipulation. Elliot liked Toby, so he kissed him on his front steps. Elliot liked Toby, so he sucked Toby's cock.

Toby eased under the covers, and Elliot rolled to face him, slurred, "Am I keeping you awake?"

"I never sleep through." He ran his fingers through the hair on Elliot's chest, wondering how awake he was, got a rumble. Light fingernails down Elliot's belly.

Elliot didn't open his eyes, but in the shadows Toby saw the corner of his mouth lift. "You tryin' keep me awake?"

That sounded like a great idea. Toby wriggled forward and licked Elliot's nipple. Licked, sucked, and then caught it in the point of his teeth, felt Elliot's whole body come awake. Just a tiny bite of pain, but Elliot didn't protest, too surprised or maybe he just liked it. Back to soothing lips and tongue, a hand on Elliot's hip to keep him steady, then to press him backwards so Toby could kiss his way across to Elliot's other nipple, kiss and lick and suckle, could feel the tension in Elliot's body, awaiting the sting. Toby opened wide, let his teeth gently graze over skin towards the tip, Elliot's hips lifting in anticipation until Toby gave him the sharp little bite he'd been waiting for.

A heavy hand curled behind Toby's neck, not knowing whether to stop him or encourage him, and Toby let go, flicked his tongue over the sensitised nipple, and Elliot's hand tightened.

"Are you awake?"

"I'm awake, Toby."

Toby slid on top and pushed his knees between Elliot's. Their skin was sticky and warm. He slid up Elliot's body, and then slid down again, catching Elliot's thick cock between his thighs. "You like it like this, Elliot? Like Ancient Greece?"

"I'm not so fond of boys." But Elliot's big hands cupped his ass, rocking Toby around his cock. Sleepy-eyed but smiling. "Got something to ease the way?"

Toby kept their hips locked together as he reached for the lube.

"Turn the light on while you're there, Toby. Want to see you."

Toby bumped the switch and they both screwed up their eyes, blinking. He slicked his hand and reached back between his legs to fist Elliot's cock, was glad he could see Elliot's face go slack as he worked him. He leaned up on his elbow and spilled more lube across Elliot's stomach where he was going to rub his own cock. "I'm going to have to buy more sheets."

Elliot grinned and pulled him close again, letting out a "Yeah," as his cock pumped easily between Toby's thighs.

His hands shifted between Toby's hips and ass to control the pace, slow and steady, fingers digging deeper as he urged him on until he was growling in Toby's ear, wet cock skimming by Toby's balls.

Toby could get used to this unselfconscious, middle-of-the-night Elliot.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot had said kids had to build their own relationships, and you couldn't control it. Mother said Holly and Harry would start feeling like a family when they spent more time like a family. Angus said Toby had to sit them down together, talk it through. Toby just wanted to keep them too busy to fight.

It was a lot easier having everyone around. With eight people at meals, no one had to talk to anyone they didn't want to. At Coney Island after they all watched people cram absurd numbers of hot dogs in their mouths, Toby and Angus took Harry and Angus' boys on the rides while Mother and Angus's wife Ellen walked Holly along the beach. Timothy and Jack got along fine with Harry.

In the evening, Toby got to spend his first free Fourth of July in ten years watching fireworks over the bay with an arm around each of his kids, and for most of it he was blinking back the blur of tears.

Toby put the conversation with Harry off to the third day, but he'd promised himself no later. He wanted it over with, maybe even forgotten, well before Harry went home to San Diego. Toby wondered if Elliot would have had any good advice on this one. Probably not; Elliot had never spent six months funnelling drugs up his nose.

Harry had forsaken the air conditioning to play by himself down in a back corner of the garden, and there wouldn't be a better opportunity. Toby scooped out a couple of bowls of ice cream as a shameless bribe, and headed out into the sticky heat. "Hey, Harry. Whatcha doing?"

Harry considered the broom handle he'd just propped against a branch, and then shifted it a foot to the right. "Designing a fort. Tim and Jack are going to join in when they get back." He looked up and saw the two big bowls of ice cream Toby was holding, and a little interest sparked.

"All right. Can we talk?"

Harry shrugged, and started pulling his grandmother's potted conifer into his design.

Holly was always eager for any chance at a meaningful conversation, unless she thought she was in trouble. Harry avoided them for all he was worth. Another factor that made it a struggle to get as close with his son. Toby found a shady spot on the ground inside the marked-out fort and waited, until Harry seemed to realise it wasn't going to happen without him. He stopped fiddling with the plant and sat on the chair he'd stolen from the porch, reaching for the offered bowl and digging straight in.

Toby folded his legs, already sweating, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. "Harry, did someone tell you I used to use drugs?"

Harry went red and shrugged, and Toby's breath lodged sideways in his throat. So much like Gary, who'd bloomed red at even a suggestion of guilt. They got the blushing gene from Genevieve.

"You're not in trouble. And it's true."

Harry's head came up. He hadn't expected the admission.

"I've made some terrible mistakes. You know that. I drank too much, and I killed someone, and that's why I went to prison. Prison was very, very hard, so for a few months in that first year, I took drugs so I didn't have to think about it."

Harry looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Toby empathised. This conversation had been hard enough with Holly, who always gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"At first it seemed to help, but then it made everything worse, so I stopped." Not by choice so much as a long stint in the Hole after trying to kill Schillinger and himself, followed by an adjustment period spent experimenting with being crazy. Also, son, I bit the end off the cock of the next man who tried to rape me. Confession was good for the soul, but you had to measure out the details. "I don't do it anymore. I haven't in a long time. I'm sorry you found out, but since you did, I thought you deserved to know the truth from me."

Harry shoved an enormous spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, and stared off into the garden.

"Is there anything you want to ask?"

Harry shook his head, hard.

A nine year-old wasn't supposed to know about his father's drug habit. "You can ask me anything, Harry. Any time. Anything you want to know, and I'll try to tell the truth, all right? I'd rather you ask me than be left wondering by gossip or things you've overheard."

"Okay."

This would have been the perfect time for Harry to ask if Toby would ever go back to prison, or to tell Toby how grateful he was to have Jonah for a father instead of Toby, or share whatever else he'd been whispering in Holly's ear out of Toby's hearing, but he only waved away a bee, and then stared hard as it buzzed off to hover in the poppies.

Toby wanted to hug him, but Harry always took physical affection stiffly, like something to bear. "Do you want some help building your fort?"

"No, I'm fine."

All right then. Toby lingered, picking unenthusiastically at his ice cream, until it just felt awkward. He stood and brushed himself off, and headed back into the air conditioning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry seemed content to pretend their conversation in his fort never happened. It worked for Toby, too. Harry was happy if they went to the beach most mornings, had stopped comparing the waves to his favourite San Diego beaches. Holly was content to wade along the shore, as long as they didn't stay too long and she got an ice cream on the way home.

Things were going well. Calm enough that on Friday Toby decided to brave hundred-degree weather at the Bronx Zoo, just the three of them. He'd got the hang of rationing out conversation like cake, perfectly equal slices for everyone. He wondered if this was how the UN worked.

He let them both pull out their electronics on the subway to keep the peace. It gave him an hour to enjoy watching them. Holly was flicking through songs on her ipod, sometimes kicking her feet in time, always playing with the hem of her skirt or the end of her blonde braid. Harry had his dark head down, totally absorbed in Mario Brothers, his whole body leaning and jerking as he thumbed the buttons, letting out the occasional quiet, "No!" or "Yeah!"

Once they arrived, rhinos and snakes and bears turned out to be the perfect distraction. Harry loved animals as much as Holly did. They both whined a little at the heat, but there wasn't a sharp word between them all day, even when they shared a table at lunch for hot dogs and nachos.

They saved the lions for the afternoon, but as soon as they were within sight, Harry raced for the fence. Toby and Holly followed at a more dignified pace. Three lions lay stretched out in the sun, too hot to do more than flick their tails.

"Your mother loved the lions."

Harry looked back over his shoulder. "Really?"

"They were her favourite." Gen had talked about going to Africa one day, to see them in the wild.

"Did Mom come to the zoo?"

"We all did. The whole family. It was a hot summer day just like this. We stood right over there. You were just a baby, but your mother picked you up out of the pram to show you. I put Holly up on my shoulders for a better view, and Gary was clinging to the fence right there, roaring. Do you remember that, Hol?"

Holly was staring out at the lions, ignoring the pair of them. She'd probably been too young to remember, anyway.

Toby had taken plenty of photos that day, but he had no idea where they'd gone. It couldn't have been more than a month or two before Toby crashed his car through Kathy Rockwell. "Gen was bouncing you, singing a song about the jungle." Toby had forgotten all about it. It felt like he'd forgotten a lot of the good times. He remembered plenty of fighting and nagging and more than a few nights spent sleeping in the spare room in that last year, but there'd been good times, too.

Harry was riveted. "What else did Mom like?"

"She liked the elephants and the tigers, but the lions were her favourite."

Holly turned from the fence and snapped, "Don't talk about her."

Toby blinked, caught off guard. "Harry just wants-"

"I don't want to talk about her!" Her voice was getting loud.

"I can if I want to!" retorted Harry.

"She didn't care about you!"

"Holly!" Toby stepped forward, and so did Holly.

"She didn't! Stop talking about Mom and Gary! I don't want to talk about them!"

Toby was ready to snap back, until he noticed the way her lips were pressed, the shine in her eyes. If this went any further, someone was going to end up in tears. Maybe Toby. "All right. It's okay, Hol." Harry opened his mouth to protest, so Toby put a hand on Holly's shoulder to quiet her for a moment. "Harry, how about we spend some time together later? Just you and me, and you can ask anything you want."

Harry stared poison at his sister. "She always gets what she wants."

Toby would have to fix that tomorrow. "Let's go see the tigers."

 

Toby kept his sigh of relief quiet when Harry wanted to go to the bathroom, and he finally had a moment alone with Holly. He pulled her into a sweaty hug, held her tight for a couple of minutes. "Are you okay?"

She nodded against his chest.

"What upset you?"

"I don't want to talk about them."

He pulled back to see her face. "We talk about them all the time." Toby hadn't wanted them to become some kind of taboo, so he'd tried to mention them in little ways. Holly had never objected.

"Not when he's here."

"They're his family, too."

"No, they're not!"

"Holly, you can't-"

"I wish he was dead instead of Gary!"

"Don't say that!"

"Then it could just be you and me and Gary!"

"I mean it, Holly! Don't ever say that again!"

"Ow! Let me go!"

He realised he was grasping her arms too tight and let go, and she stumbled back, and then she stormed off to sit on a bench, looking anywhere but at Toby.

Toby felt sick. He'd almost shaken her. He'd lost enough people he loved without hearing it wished on the few he had left.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot showed Dickie how to lay the painter's tape straight and firm, let him take care of the floor while Elliot worked on the windows. Dickie and Lizzie had both decided summer vacation was time to redecorate, get rid of all the kid stuff in their rooms. Lizzie was probably going to take until August to clean her room, so Dickie was getting first makeover. It was long overdue, but all the race cars Kathy had painted along the wooden moulding were going to be covered, the matching curtains they'd found replaced with plain green. Elliot felt a little stab of empathy for Toby the other night, mourning his family's winter house in Vermont.

On the other hand, it felt nice working on this, just him and Dickie. Teaching his son how to paint.

Elliot's phone rang and he dug it out, hoping it was Toby and not- Yes. "You okay for a moment, Dickie?"

Dickie waved him off and went back to taping off the skirting board, used to Elliot rushing away every time the phone rang.

Elliot picked up, heading downstairs to his old kitchen. "Hey."

"What are you wearing?"

Elliot snorted. "My rattiest old tank top." Toby was probably still in a polo shirt, even in this heat.

"How's the painting going?"

"Dickie changed his mind about the colour four times at the hardware store. We just got home an hour ago." Not really Elliot's home anymore. Everyone else was out, so he wandered around the kitchen, snooping. They had a new toaster. "How about you? How's the vacation?"

"I took Harry to Genevieve's grave today."

Elliot sat at the dining table. "How was that?"

"It was... nice." He sounded surprised. "I've only been there once since I got out. Gary and Dad are there, too; I couldn't..."

"I get it."

"We took some flowers; I told him stories. I haven't thought that much about the good memories with Gen in a long time. Holly never seems interested when I mention her, but Harry bombarded me with questions, wanted to know everything."

Elliot leaned on the table, traced the gouge Dickie had left with his fork as a six year-old's objection to peas. "Holly's own memories may be hazy, but she has some. Genevieve must be a mystery to Harry, probably deified by her parents."

"Pretty much."

Elliot tried to imagine painting a picture of Kathy for Dickie and Lizzie, if they hadn't had a chance to know her. A lot of the stories he'd tell would be from here, in this kitchen. The songs she sang while she nursed them, the birthday cakes she decorated. "They can tell her about Genevieve as a child, but you knew her as a mother. Maybe that's what he's looking for."

"Yeah. I think you're right."

"It was just you and Harry today?"

There was a telling pause. "We were having a good run until the zoo yesterday. We had a good run for most of the zoo."

"And then?"

"Holly lost it when we started talking about Gen and Gary. She refuses to see Harry as family." Elliot could picture Toby rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. "She wished Harry was dead instead of Gary."

"Toby... Kids say things. They don't always think about what it means. And Holly and Gary survived a lot together." They visited their father in Oswald, they found their mother's body, they were kidnapped. Harry hadn't been part of any of that.

"I know. Look, you should get back to Dickie. Make sure he hasn't started painting the room black, or something."

"Yeah. You're doing okay, Toby. This was never going to be smooth."

"I know."

"I'll see you soon."

"Elliot?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Elliot smiled. "Don't worry about it, Toby. Glad I could listen."


	24. Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the post-coital peace of Elliot's first night sleeping over, he finally dug a few details out of Toby about Chris: armed robbery, a store clerk murdered. Elliot didn't feel so good about that, but he felt great about sucking Toby's cock.  
> Toby made it through talking to Harry about his heroin days without disaster, but it was hardly a bonding experience. The whole vacation at Mother's went well enough until the zoo, when Holly took exception to a trip down memory lane and expressed her firm opinion on which brother ought to be dead.  
> Toby took Harry to Genevieve's grave and shared memories without Holly's interference. Elliot took time out of painting with Dickie to be a good listener.

"It's not so bad, Toby. A few stitches." He adjusted the phone. "Doc didn't even give me a lollipop." Elliot looked down and wrinkled his nose. He'd been lucky. The doctor cheerfully told him that if the knife had gone a little deeper into his hand, there would have been severed tendons, and he wouldn't have been holding a gun again. He was grateful it was only going to be a week typing reports one-handed.

"I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Seriously, don't bother. I'll be out of here in thirty." Elliot would have liked the company, but it was too late now. Olivia had to wrangle their perp back to the station. It never felt good, coming down from the charge of a fight alone, mind free to replay those two minutes of chaos for hours, how it could have gone better, how it could have gone worse. Toby would have gotten him out of his head.

"And then you'll come here?"

Elliot reached with his left hand for the pants hanging over the chair and wriggled his wallet out of the pocket. "How about I stop by work and get a change of clothes, then I come there?" He flipped it open and dug out the picture Holly had taken a couple of days ago with her new mini polaroid camera. Toby was looking at the camera, lip lifting as he tried not to laugh at the way Holly was bossing him around. It was a nice photo. Elliot carried Toby's picture around, now.

"I can live with that."

Elliot was smiling. He was starting to notice how much he smiled when he was on the phone with Toby. "I'll be at Olivia's whim for a lift, and maybe not a lot of fun, but I'll get there."

"I'll tell Holly to put the balloons away and pack up Twister."

Elliot snorted, and put a hand over his abdomen as the twinge beat out the lingering local anaesthetic. He couldn't bring Toby in, because he still had to go back to the station, and how would he explain Toby there?

Just after she took this, Holly had cheekily asked them to hug for the camera, and Toby had chased her and wrestled it out of her hands. He'd tossed it to Elliot and asked for a picture of him squeezing the life out of Holly. Elliot didn't know if he'd just been messing around, or trying to protect Elliot from having their photo taken together. Elliot wouldn't have minded. He liked how blase Holly seemed to be about it.

Elliot heard Kathy's voice a moment before she swept through the curtain. "Elliot! Elliot, are you all right?"

"I gotta go." He only half-heard Toby's goodbye as he clumsily stuffed the photo away one-handed. "What are you doing here?"

"Captain Cragen called me."

Of course he did. "He shouldn't have done that." Not even when Elliot was this happy to see her.

She put a hand on his wrist above the bandage. "We may be divorced but you're still the father of my children, and I don't need to find out you've been shot a week afterwards from them."

"I haven't been shot-"

"Not this time. Are we going to argue about this, or are you going to tell me what happened?"

She never had time for his shit when he was hurt. He missed that. "Woman came at Olivia with a knife."

"It was a woman?"

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "You like that?"

"Let's save the jokes for when you've stopped bleeding." She managed a weak smile, and then turned serious again. "How bad is it?"

Elliot lifted his flimsy hospital gown to show her the bandage across his abdomen. "Stitches. No major damage. A few days of desk duty."

"Good." The air finally let out of her, and she reached around for a gentle hug.

Elliot bit his lip as he patted her back. He was glad to know she still cared, but Kathy wasn't the one who belonged here anymore. It would have been nice to have Toby rush in and fuss over him, not worrying who might jump to conclusions about seeing them together.

Kathy pulled back, hands on his shoulders. "Do you need to stay with us?"

He would have welcomed that six months ago. Back home to let Kathy play nurse, and a quiet hope she might forget that they were over for a little while. "Nah. I'll be okay." Elliot wanted Toby to play nurse. "Thanks for coming, Kathy, but Olivia's going to get me home. You didn't need to drive all this way. Cragen shouldn't have called you."

"I stopped in to see him when I eventually found out you'd been shot last November. Trust me, he will call me every time you end up in hospital from now on."

"You read the riot act to Cragen?" Elliot wanted to be angry, but he would have cashed in his retirement fund to listen in on that conversation.

"We had words. There's no need for Olivia to drive you; I'm going that way."

Elliot didn't want to go all the way to Glen Oaks just because he couldn't wriggle out of Kathy's offer. "I need to take care of a few things at work, anyway. File an injury report, that sort of thing." Stow his gun, pick up a change of clothes, so Olivia could drive him to Brooklyn instead of Queens. "I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"Not for nothing, Elliot." She squeezed his shoulder. "Coming here wasn't out of my way. I still worry about you."

"I know." On impulse he hugged her with his left arm, glad he had when her fingers curled into his back. The adrenaline from the attack lasted less than two minutes. Her drive in had taken a lot longer. He guided her up to sit beside him on the stretcher. "I could use some company while they do all their paperwork."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kathy ended up driving him back to the station house. Elliot felt like evidence, being passed along the chain from Kathy to Olivia. The women were friendly and polite, but Elliot could see Kathy's curious look, knew she was wondering if that was where he was going to recuperate. If Elliot had slept with her since Kathy relinquished ownership.

He'd allowed himself a couple of fantasies after the paperwork was filed, before he got distracted pretending he didn't want to think about Toby. Falling into Olivia's arms for a night - if she'd even been willing - had never really been on the cards. It seemed like it would prove Kathy's fears right about there being something between them, sublimated all these years. Whereas breaking the news about Toby... no way would she be able to claim she saw that coming. Elliot kissed her cheek goodbye and promised to call tomorrow, told her to tell the kids he was fine.

He sat carefully at his desk. "How's our knife-wielding mother?"

"In lock-up. She can kiss her custody case goodbye."

Elliot patted the bandage over his mid-section. "Her wouldn't-hurt-a-fly routine has a crimp in it."

Cragen frowned when he saw him. "What are you doing back here, Elliot?"

"Tidying up my desk and then heading home." Elliot held up his envelope. "And delivering this. Off tomorrow and the weekend, desk duty until he checks me out next week."

Cragen plucked the doctor's note from his fingers. "Fat lot of good you'll be on desk duty. You don't type that fast with two hands."

"Happy to take the week off."

Cragen gave him a long look, and Elliot realised it was a long time since he'd suggested taking any time off. "You want it, you take it, but I'm sure we can get you a phone to answer or a stack of financial records to crawl through."

On cue, Olivia stood. "Let's go." She waited until they hit the elevator to ask, "Queens or Brooklyn?"

"Brooklyn."

They were quiet until the Manhattan Bridge, Elliot enjoying the soft buzz of the pain meds taking over. Usually he avoided popping pills, but the nurse had distracted him, and now he didn't know why he didn't usually take them. He didn't hurt at all.

"Thanks for jumping in, Elliot."

He rolled his head to face her and smiled. "Always. Got your back."

"I know."

"Always got your back."

She glanced over. "Are you stoned?"

"A little."

She smiled, looking far down the road. "I feel like this is a golden time to pry for details."

"Details?"

"About your boyfriend."

"No need. Everything's good. Toby's good."

"Is it still strange? A man?"

Elliot prodded around his slow brain. Was it? "Not when I'm with him. When it's the two of us. But sometimes when I'm with other people: at work, or at home, and I wonder what people would think... Sometimes."

"It shouldn't matter what people think."

"It does." Not everyone. But how could he not care what the kids would think? Or Kathy? Or what the guys at the station would say? The only people who didn't care what anybody thought were sociopaths. 

"I dated a woman once."

Elliot's head just about twisted off his neck. "You what?"

"So help me, if you try to picture it I'll shoot you."

He wasn't going to, but now she'd put it in his head... "Same goes for you."

"Really?"

Elliot slouched back in his seat. "I know what women can be like. 'Velvet Goldmine' was the first DVD Kathy bought, and she almost wore it out." And Elliot always got lucky after she watched it. He could feel a smile stretching across his face at the memories, but that was off the major topic at hand. Olivia. Dated a woman. "When did you...?"

"A couple of years ago. It lasted a few weeks. It was good but... I like men."

Elliot wanted to ask who. And how. And if she'd found it all confusing and a little terrifying, but he wasn't sure how far she was inviting him in. "Did you ever think about telling people at work?" Telling me, he meant. It would have surprised a lot of people to know Olivia held tighter to her privacy than Elliot did. Olivia didn't tell anyone anything. Not even Elliot. Except today. He got stoned, and she got talkative.

"It never got that far. Have you?"

"No. No, that's not even..." Except when he was sitting on a stretcher in Emergency, and it was his ex-wife that came barrelling in instead of Toby. "I never thought about it before. What it's like for those people. I mean, the hate crimes, sure, all the shit we've seen where everything goes catastrophically wrong. But the quiet stuff, the sideways looks, the not knowing if your friends'll treat you just a little bit differently when they find out... I don't want that."

"Nobody does."

"I'm not ashamed of Toby."

"I know."

"I just don't want to deal with all that."

Olivia glanced over. He could see she was rolling through a whole list of questions. "Does Toby want you to come out at work?"

"He never said it." Wait... It had come up once, weeks ago, talking about Olivia. Elliot fumbled up the memory. "No... He says he doesn't want me to tell anyone at work. I think he thinks some bigot cop'll piss me off and I'll punch 'em."

She pretended she was concentrating on the traffic, but he knew she was stalling. Finally she said, "It's a reasonable concern."

"Yeah." It was. "He wants me to talk to you, though."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I always had to be careful with Kathy, make sure she didn't feel like you had too much of me. Never wanted to give her reason to worry, you know? Toby, he nags me to talk to you. It's nice."

Elliot was starting to feel like he was talking a lot, so he stopped, and enjoyed the quiet. They were almost there.

 

He climbed out of the sedan carefully, and raised an eyebrow when he found Olivia standing on the kerb waiting for him. "I'm pretty sure I can make it up the stairs on my own."

Olivia took his bag. "Don't want to take any chances."

"You mean you want to stick your nose in."

"Who me?" She gave him a saucy grin, and led the way to the door.

Toby answered as soon as he buzzed. "Do you need a hand up the stairs?"

"No." Elliot shot a pointed look at Olivia, and opened the door when it clicked. Actually, the stairs were swaying a little, but he managed on his own feet and a good grip on the rail.

When they reached the landing, Elliot pulled Olivia into a hug. "Sorry. I'm stoned." He wasn't sorry. He didn't hug her enough.

She patted his back, awkwardly. "Okay, El."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby opened his door to find Elliot with his arms around Olivia. He could feel his eyebrows rising. "Um. Come in."

Olivia extracted herself, patting her hair back in place. It was probably a rare thing, to see her this flustered. She offered over a gym bag. "Don't worry, I'm not staying."

"You're welcome if you-"

Elliot spread his arms. "Detective Benson, signing over Stabler to Mr Beecher."

They both looked at Elliot, then Toby looked at Olivia. "Pain meds?"

"Yup."

Elliot ambled in as Holly came out of her room. "Hey Olivia."

Olivia smiled. "Hi Holly. How are you doing?"

"Very well, thank you. How are you?" 

"I'm good."

Holly looked Elliot over. "You don't look so bad."

Apart from the bandaged hand and the vacant smile she was right, to Toby's relief.

Elliot mock-whispered, "That's what I keep telling everyone."

Toby rolled his eyes. "He looks bad enough. Olivia, are you sure you don't want to stay?"

"No, I think Elliot needs some rest. Maybe some other time."

"We should." He reached out a hand and she shook it. If she had a problem with Elliot being with him, she hid it well.

"He can have another couple of pills in two hours."

"Thanks, Olivia."

"Bye Holly.

"Bye!"

Toby closed the door, and darted over to catch Elliot before he could drop on the couch. "Trust me, you're going to be incredibly grateful later if I make you piss and change into comfortable clothes now, before you melt into the couch."

He rustled Elliot into the bedroom, uncomfortably conscious of Holly watching them go. Toby supposed tonight was going to be the night she got used to the idea of her father sharing his bed. It seemed too soon, but since she was the one who outed them, she could handle it. Not much danger of sex tonight, anyway.

He could tell by the stiff way Elliot moved as he worked off his shirt and changed into the pair of shorts Toby gave him that the meds were softening off. Toby helped him to stand again, and put a hand on the bandage across his abdomen. "How bad is it really?"

"Not so bad. A few stitches."

"How many?"

Elliot laid his good hand over Toby's. "Eight here. Fourteen in my hand." That hand pressed against the small of Toby's back and pulled him closer. He nuzzled his nose in Toby's neck, worked his way up into a slow kiss. "Missed you."

Toby held him gently. He hadn't believed it was just a couple of scratches, like Elliot had claimed over the phone, and he hadn't supposed it was life-threatening if Elliot called himself, but the bandages still made him feel tender. "This sort of thing happen a lot?"

A light touch up and down Toby's back as Elliot nuzzled along his shoulder. "I've been building my frequent Emergency department miles." His hands drifted up Toby's arms.

Toby nudged him back and touched a scar higher on Elliot's chest. "You've got a pretty big collection." He turned Elliot's arm, brushed his fingers over the bullet wound. "Any serious damage to your hand?"

"Nah. I'll be back at work next week. It was close." He glanced up to meet Toby's eyes and swallowed. "I don't ever want to get stuck behind a desk."

"Is there any point in reminding you to be careful?"

"She was going for Liv."

Of course Elliot thundered in. No point telling him to be careful when someone he cared about was in danger. Toby supposed he counted in that category now.

"Liv dated a woman." His eyes went wide. "I think that was a secret."

"I can keep a secret."

Elliot kissed Toby again, arms wrapping him tight, and Toby rubbed his back.

"C'mon. Before Holly starts jumping to conclusions and making me blush." He had to wiggle out of Elliot's grip, placating him with kisses. He took back the t-shirt he'd left on the bed and found a loose tank top in the gym bag that would be easier for Elliot to pull over his head. The meds hadn't faded right off, judging by the docile way Elliot let Toby guide him into the bathroom, hovering as he pissed and washed and then leading him out to settle on the couch.

Elliot waved off food, so Toby suggested Holly pick out a few movies to choose from while he heated up some leftovers. Over the hum of the microwave, he heard Elliot asking if Holly had any buddy cop movies.

Toby and Holly ate reheated Chinese to a quiet commentary of "Inadmissible," and "Reckless endangerment of civilians, they'd have his badge," and "Fruit of the poison tree."

When the cop dangled a suspect off the side of a building, Holly pointed at the screen. "How about that?"

"I'd be in pretty big trouble with the captain if I did that."

The muttering faded off, and ten minutes later Elliot was slumped back, eyes closed, breath slowing.

Toby patted his arm. "Do you want me to help you to bed?" He prayed Elliot wasn't stoned enough to make a dirty joke about it in front of Holly.

Elliot just shifted so his head was on Toby's shoulder. "Nah, I'll stay."

Toby looked to his other side, but Holly wasn't bothering to smother her smile. She curled in against him, sandwiching Toby between them. Toby relaxed, and turned his attention back to the movie. This wasn't so bad. Though maybe he should have pissed before the movie started.


	25. Concealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 24, Stitches:  
> An angry mother got stabby with Elliot. No major damage, but Elliot was uncomfortable that it was Kathy who came racing to the hospital to be with him.  
> On the drive to Toby's, Elliot was stoned, and he and Olivia both got talkative. Stoned Elliot was docile and affectionate and rather pleasant company for Toby and Holly.

The pain meds had definitely worn off in the morning.

"Elliot, what are you doing?"

Stupid question: it was perfectly obvious what Elliot was doing. He was being an idiot. He gritted his jaw as he reached to pull his shirt over his shoulder. "Getting dressed."

"Are you in a rush to get somewhere?"

"I'm not an invalid," he growled.

"You would have been better off waiting until these had kicked in." Toby offered a glass and the pill bottle, but Elliot waved them off.

"Stop fussing. Tylenol will be fine. I hate how I feel on those things."

"You felt great on these things last night, and you were a lot more fun."

Elliot shot him a dark look, and reached for his pants.

Toby tugged them out of reach, and then knelt to help Elliot into them. "You know there's no prize for being in pain, right? Doesn't make you a better cop, and it isn't especially sexy."

"Aren't you late for work?"

"I told Emilio I'd be in late." He'd gotten up to have breakfast with Holly, and come back to find Elliot being heroic. It was irritating, but it wasn't a surprise.

"I need to go home anyway. I told Kathy to tell the kids to let me sleep, but I can pretty much guarantee Maureen or Kathleen will drop by in the afternoon."

"That's four hours away. Plenty of time to float on some painkillers and let the stitches do their work. Holly won't mind the company. You'll be back to throwing yourself in front of knife-wielding lunatics that much sooner."

Elliot let himself accept Toby's hand to stand up, and then helped himself to the Tylenol in the kitchen cabinet and eased himself to sit at the dining table. Holly had been watching cartoons, but now she turned and stared unashamedly at Elliot.

Elliot stared back. "How was your family vacation?"

She shrugged. "It was just Gran's."

"How was the hot dog eating competition?"

"Gross. One of the women puked everywhere."

Toby made them both toast rather than giving him a chance to refuse it. Elliot hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, if he'd even eaten then. Elliot took the coffee Toby passed him with more grace than he'd taken anything else, took a sip and his whole face changed. "Wow. Where'd this come from?"

Toby nodded towards the kitchen. "I have a machine."

"I don't remember you serving this the last time I..." He cut himself off and looked at Holly.

Holly rolled her eyes and went back to watching TV. Or at least pretended.

"I was out of beans that day. If your daughters see how much pain you're in, they might decide to stay and look after you."

"No, they won't." He bit his toast, chewed and swallowed. "Maureen might."

Toby hoped she would. He suspected it was hard for Elliot, seeing how close Toby was with Holly, but there wasn't a kind way to tell him he should remember how they got there, or remember the yawning chasm between Toby and Harry, and be grateful.

Toby made another batch of toast, and they talked about hospitals and insurance paperwork until Holly got bored and wandered back to her room. As soon as the door shut, Elliot said, "Kathy came to the hospital yesterday. Cragen called her." He made it sound like a confession.

"That's good. How is she?"

Elliot pushed his plate away. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?" Toby hadn't been able to make it there, so he was glad someone had.

Elliot stared at Toby like he was stupid. "It would bother the hell out of me if you were hurt and nobody called me."

"You called. You told me not to come. I imagine Olivia would have called me if it was serious."

"That's good enough for you?"

Toby felt like he'd missed half the conversation. "What is it you want? I'm sure you don't want me hanging around the hospital like a worried lover."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"That the staff of Mercy General and the NYPD don't know we're fucking? No, Elliot, it doesn't bother me." Toby wasn't sure he'd be so practical if he had to wait on serious news, but he'd straddle that bridge if he came to it. At least he knew now what was up Elliot's ass this morning, and for once, it was easily solved. "I don't give a damn if your colleagues know about me."

"I never had to hide Kathy like some kind of shameful secret."

"Yeah, well Elliot, I'm a whole different ballgame."

Elliot's shoulder's hunched. "I'm not ashamed of you."

Toby felt his eyes rolling, couldn't help it. "I never said you were." Toby was sure he was, but he was also sure that was far down the list of reasons why Elliot didn't need Toby anywhere near his job. "You admitted you lose it any time someone pokes into your private life. Did you announce it to the station when you and Kathy separated?"

The 'no' was written all over his face.

"You're not even ready to tell your family about me, so what makes you think I expect you to be waving a pride flag at work?"

Shame flashed across Elliot's face, and Toby could have kicked himself. He didn't especially want Elliot coming out to his family, either. Hey, kids, here's my fucked-up ex-con lover. Let's play happy families. But if that happened, it happened. From what Toby had gathered, they were a strong enough family to weather it. Life as a cop was something else. "You come out at work and everybody's going to be watching you, talking about you behind your back. Everything you do will suddenly be measured through some gay filter. Defence attorneys will make a deal out of it when they cross-examine you. And it's not some hellish phase you'll get through, like the divorce. Even if you go back to women, it's going to cling to you for the rest of your career."

"Christ, Toby."

"And that's just me being a man. Wait until they find out I'm an ex-con. Have you thought all that through?" Toby had. "There are a lot of reasons why people stay in the closet, and it's not just shame."

Elliot looked ill. "Is that what happened to you?"

"I was a bitch. Being a fag was an anti-climax, on the social order."

Elliot flinched at the words as if he didn't hear them every day from street scum and probably from cops too. "You're telling me I should keep my mouth shut?"

Toby didn't want the responsibility. "I'm saying don't think you'd be doing it for me. Your job is stressful and isolating enough without adding the sly comments. Do you really want to deal with that on top of everything else? I don't want you to have to deal with it, either, so stop beating yourself up over it. I'm saying if you want to tell someone, you do it because it's what you want. And you need to make damned sure you're ready for it, because you can't put that genie back in the bottle."

"I'm not ashamed of you," Elliot said quietly, as if that's all it came down to.

"I know. You said." Toby sighed, determined to be done with this. "Are you losing sleep over whether I've confided in Emilio?"

"Why would I give a damn about your thick-headed boss? Being a parolee's enough of a spanner in the resume without..." Elliot trailed off.

Toby folded his arms, knowing the smugness was written across his face. He wished he'd made that argument ten minutes ago.

"You really don't care."

"I really don't care." Toby dragged his chair around and sat beside him. "It takes time to figure things out. You don't know who you are right now. You know you like touching my cock, but you don't know what that means. You don't know what you're going to want a year from now. You should be glad you get to sort it out in private. I did all my floundering in a fish bowl surrounded by psychopaths, in the shadow of the man who raped me. Stop with all the noble shit and count yourself lucky." Toby could see Elliot was picking through trying to decide how to ask about how Toby adjusted, dig for more about Chris, so he stood up. "Don't look at me for advice. I'm still figuring myself out." He gathered up the plates. "And take your painkillers home with you. I'm an addict."

Reminding Elliot of that seemed like the least he could do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot was glad he'd gone home when he did. He'd forgotten how hard it was to rummage through drawers without bending or twisting, and he'd barely re-packed his bag when everyone showed up, even Kathy, loaded down with bags of take out.

"I wasn't expecting a party."

Kathy just cocked an eyebrow as she swept past into the kitchen. "I wasn't sure you'd have anything in the fridge." She opened the fridge door, and was surprised to see Elliot had his own tupperware, full of real food. Half of it from Toby, of course.

Elliot slumped in the doorway, rubbing the fingers on his injured hand to ease the ache. "Surprised to find out I'm a grown man who can look after himself?"

"I didn't mean it like that, El."

"I know. I'm teasing." A few years ago, Elliot never would have had to explain that, but with all the bitter blood in the meantime...

Kathy nodded, a wry smile.

He felt a wave of affection, and guilt crept in after. That was what had really gotten to him this morning. It wasn't about work. Toby really didn't care that Kathy had been the one who got the call? Even if he understood, even if he wanted Elliot deep in the closet, he should have cared that Elliot's ex-wife was there in the hospital instead of him. Elliot would have been simmering if Toby had been hurt, and Chris had gone to comfort him.

"Dad, can I see your stitches?"

He pulled Elizabeth into a careful hug against his side. "Sorry. All bandaged up." He lifted his shirt so she could see, glad she couldn't tell it hurt like a motherfucker.

"Did you get the guy?"

"Olivia got her."

"Olivia's cool."

"Yeah, she is."

Lizzie would hate Elliot dating anyone who wasn't Kathy. She'd cried the hardest when Elliot moved out. He couldn't begin to imagine what she'd say about it being a man. He was pretty sure Kathy would be the most confounded of all of them, after Elliot himself.

Elliot turned to see the kids spreading the take out containers around the table. He'd tried to raise them all to be tolerant, but Dickie was loose in the petty, misogynistic world of junior high boys. Kathleen took exception to everything Elliot said or did these days, would probably find fault if he won the lottery and bought them all East Side apartments. Maybe not - things had been better lately. Since Toby. The idea of throwing a wrench in that made him tired.

Maureen? Maybe. He blinked as he looked at her. "Did you get a hair cut?"

She laughed. "A month ago, Dad." She looked like a woman, and not just in that disturbing, 'when did my kids hit puberty?' kind of way - he was used to that - but like an actual adult.

He believed Toby honestly didn't care if Elliot told people at work, and that was a relief, but it was a cop-out, too. Of course Elliot had thought through the consequences. He had all of Toby's imagination, and he had eighteen years on the job to see the worst of the old-boy crap the force had to offer. The thing was, he could handle outright bigots - maybe not in a force-proscribed manner, but he'd handle them. It was the petty fears that sat like a rock in his gut. He was more afraid of friends asking if he was gay now. He'd always thought people were being precious when they got snitty about labels - after all, Elliot called himself straight, and what was wrong with that? But now what Toby said was right: he liked touching Toby's cock, but he didn't know what that meant. He hadn't found himself checking out Munch's ass, so was he gay?

And then there was the threat of people questioning his objectivity on the job the way they questioned Olivia's sometimes. Or the way Finn's was questioned when the victim was an ethnic minority. It was funny how being a straight white man made everyone think you were objective.

Lizzie was reaching up for plates and seemed to be in serious danger of bringing them down on her head, so he stepped up and took over, grunting as the twist pulled at his stitches.

Kathy pulled them out of his hands. "Just take some damn pain pills, would you?"

"I'm fine."

Kathleen slipped past him and filled her hands full of silverware and napkins, nudging her sisters aside to set places, teasing Dickie for wearing the same shirt two days in a row.

Family was different. He didn't want to make up excuses why his kids shouldn't visit him when he was secretly not home. He wanted them to know he was in a good mood because Toby took care of him last night. He wanted his own kids to hang out with him and Toby like it was no big deal, like Holly did. There was no question he was going to tell them. He'd do it soon. But if Toby wasn't rushing him, then not just yet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot tossed his jacket towards a chair, not seeming to care that it missed, and caught Toby up against the counter. He rubbed his jaw along Toby's like a cat marking property. "That's not the kind of hungry I am right now."

Toby chuckled, working Elliot's tie loose. "Being back on active duty put you in a good mood."

"Being okayed for physical activity put me in a good mood." He gave a wicked smile and dove in for a kiss that promised all sorts of dirty things, very soon.

"Tired of jerking off left-handed?"

"It feels weird."

A knock on the door stopped them both, and Toby's gut knotted.

Elliot pressed their foreheads together. "Expecting someone?"

"No." Which meant there was a good chance it was the last person Toby wanted here right now. He went to the peephole and swore under his breath. Of all the times to show up... For a moment, he entertained the idea of sending Elliot down the fire escape. He probably wouldn't get much cooperation on that. Instead he checked back over his shoulder to see Elliot looking wide-eyed as he picked up his jacket, not ready to be sprung making out no matter who it was. Toby motioned for him to fix his clothes so he'd at least look like a professional, and raised a finger in warning for him to stay calm.

"Stalin?" Elliot mouthed.

Toby nodded, and waited the extra minute it took for Elliot to push his tie in place and swing his jacket back on.

He opened the door. "Officer."

"Beecher. Violated any conditions lately?"

"No, sir."

No sir, yes sir. Toby didn't want Elliot to see him like this, playing bitch to yet another vindictive bully. Only this time the bully was half his age and wearing a badge, wielding more power than Vern could have wished for.

"You're an obsequious shit, Beecher. Hope you mind if I poke around."

Toby stepped back and motioned him in, watched his eyes narrow as they fell on Elliot.

"Hello. Who do we have here?"

"Just a friend."

"Criminal?"

Elliot snorted, and Toby glared at him. He needed Elliot not to be a macho prick for half an hour. "No."

Starling dragged his fingers over Toby's shelves and rummaged as he pleased. "Does your friend know you're a drunk junkie fuck-up who kills little girls?"

"He knows. Look around all you want, there's nothing to find."

Elliot loomed like an angry strip club bouncer, but was mercifully silent.

"There's always something to find, Beecher. Done any drugs lately?"

"No."

"Trafficked any drugs lately?"

"No." Was he going to trawl through Toby's entire record for Elliot's benefit?

"Stabbed anyone lately?"

"No." Toby stole a glance at Elliot, but his face was a hard mask for the back of the officer now emptying Toby's kitchen cupboards.

"Killed anyone?"

"No."

"Telling the truth?"

"N- Yes."

Starling stood back with a malicious smile. "That was a trick question. You're paying attention." He looked Elliot over again as he headed for the bedroom. Elliot was good enough to hang back out of sight as Starling shone a flashlight under the bed, and then poked through drawers at random, smirking as he tipped the drawer with the condoms and lube across the floor. "You're a dirty fuck."

Toby bit back his retort.

"What's this?"

Toby realised what he'd found a moment before Starling dragged the plastic bag from the back of his t-shirt drawer. He felt sick as Starling poked inside and looked up, amused and disgusted, pulling out the red dress Toby used to wear to Franco's, fishing out the smaller make up bag. The humiliation Toby used to savour on his knees in urine-stained cubicles didn't taste so good here with Stalin, with Elliot just out of view. Elliot. Toby prayed desperately that Starling would keep quiet, that Elliot would stay put, that he could keep this much contained.

Starling poked around in the make up bag, pulled out a lipstick. "You really are a twisted bitch, aren't you? You want to make yourself pretty for me, Beecher?"

"No, sir." No sir, Mr Schillinger. Please may I fuck my wife, sir. Please let me sing you a song at talent night, sir. Toby's face burned and his gut burned, but he forced his hands to stay open, forced his jaw not to clench. He wasn't going to let this prick make him an animal. Not in his home, not in front of Elliot. He had to stay calm for Holly's sake.

Toby's underwear was thrown across the floor, law books were dumped off the shelf, and then Stalin strolled back out to eye off with Elliot again, was opening Holly's door when he paused and took a longer look. He let go of the handle and faced Elliot, stance wide. "You got a licence for that concealed weapon?"

Shit. Elliot had his ankle piece.

Elliot didn't flinch. He showed his hands as he opened his jacket and pulled out his ID. "Senior Detective Elliot Stabler. NYPD."

Starling's eyes lit, and he smiled at Elliot. "Being in contact with a law enforcement agency without notifying me constitutes a violation of your parole, Beecher."

"Mr Beecher isn't under investigation. He provided us with assistance on a case some months ago, and I was just stopping by to check in."

"I notified Luke at the time," said Toby, but no one was listening.

"What kind of case?"

Elliot's smile was dangerous. Toby felt like an antelope caught between two lions. "The case is closed, now. Mr Beecher was extremely helpful. We may have need of him again."

Starling watched him thoughtfully, Toby forgotten. "Which precinct?"

"Sixteenth."

So Toby was in favour with the NYPD, maybe even their informant, and not to be messed with. Toby could have kissed Elliot's face.

Starling nodded. "All right." He turned to Toby. "Thank you for your time."

He let himself out, leaving Toby gaping. Stalin just thanked him? Toby slumped back against the wall, adrenaline fade making him dizzy.

"Wow," Elliot said quietly. "Law enforcement officers can be assholes."

Toby snorted, but he couldn't bring himself to meet Elliot's eyes, even as Elliot moved closer.

"Toby, you've got to be a little impressed that I didn't hit him."

"I am. Thank you." Toby was never going to leave it behind. Vern was dead, Oz was hours away and Toby was still bent over, waiting for whatever assfucking came next.

Elliot took his shoulders. "If you believe for a second I think less of you after watching you hold your temper as that jerk trampled over your life, you don't know me at all."

"I don't want you to see me that way."

"I don't see you that way."

Toby lifted his chin. Of course Elliot didn't. He was a sensitive, new age, sex crimes detective. "I'm very impressed you didn't hit him." He started loosening Elliot's tie again. "I'm going to reward you with a blow job that'll leave a smile on your face for days." Maybe with the added bonus of distracting Elliot before he could ask what Stalin meant about drug trafficking and stabbing and killing people.

"Toby?"

"I'm okay. I want to get back to taking advantage of your newly-healed state."

Elliot relented and let Toby kiss him.


	26. Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 25, Concealed:  
> Elliot was off his painkillers and much less fun to be around. It was also partly guilt at keeping Toby a secret. Toby pointed out - vividly - that the alternative would do little to improve Elliot's work experience. And maybe Elliot should get over it. Elliot kind of got over it, but remained uncomfortable that Kathy was the one on Cragen's speed dial. All the family piled over to bring Elliot comfort food, and Elliot juggled his worries about being labelled a gay cop with his fear of how his kids would react. Coming out to his kids was starting to seem like a real possibility.  
> Elliot finally crossed paths with Toby's asshole parole officer, Stalin. Elliot behaved himself - even managed to give Toby a little protection - but Toby was humiliated. As usual, sex ensued.

Elliot leaned against the car, waiting for Toby to pick up.

"I'm guessing you're not going to make it."

Elliot rubbed a hand through his hair, squinting up at the sun reflecting of the windows above him. "We have to find this guy. I could be chasing witnesses for hours. I'm going to have to call our date tonight a bust."

"I told you the other day, I don't mind if you get here late." Toby was using his bedroom voice, but it didn't hit Elliot the way it usually did.

"I won't want to wake you. I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

It took a beat for Toby to answer. "I'll talk to you then."

Elliot slipped his phone back in his pocket. Toby had sounded disappointed, but not surprised. It was the third time Elliot had broken a date in a week, and he was starting to feel like an asshole. This time was genuine, but the last two...

He hurried to catch up with Olivia, who was waiting outside the salon.

 

"Thanks for your help."

"It has been entirely my pleasure to assist an officer of the law." As they headed for the salon door, Millie boomed after them, "Ain't you gonna give me your card, sugar?"

Elliot shot a look at Olivia, but she just smiled and said, "She was asking you, sugar."

He knew that. He'd just been hoping Olivia would have his back. So much for that. He swung back and fished a card out of his jacket for the six-foot-four transvestite.

Millie swept his hair back with his long red talons and gave Elliot a flirty smile. "You wanna put your home number on the back?"

"No. I don't." He suspected his smile was more of a grimace.

He shoved the card closer, and Millie took it delicately, and slid it into his cleavage. "I'll keep it close, in case anything occurs to me."

Elliot hurried to catch up with Olivia out on the street. She was trying to get some distance before she burst out laughing.

"Do I have a sign on my face or something?"

"She was only checking you out, Elliot. They always are."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She slid her sunglasses back on. "Gay men and drag queens have always flirted with you; you just never took it personally before."

"I think I would have noticed a giant in a sparkling silver dress hitting on me."

"You used to dismiss it as part of their game. Now you think it's about you."

Elliot looked back at Millie's salon. "Is it?"

Oliva grinned, and wouldn't answer.

Elliot doubted it was all his imagination, but he was willing to buy in. It was better than believing he'd fundamentally changed, somehow. He didn't like that it bothered him. He didn't like that it bothered him that Olivia might wonder if Toby wore dresses like that for Elliot.

Mostly Elliot didn't like that he'd been avoiding Toby since the night he and Toby dragged each other through the mess Stalin had left in the bedroom, so eager to get naked on the bed they barely paid attention to what they were stepping over. It was only lying on his back afterwards, chasing his breath, that Elliot had thought to wonder why there was a satiny red dress dumped on the floor, cosmetics spilling out of the bag beside it.

Elliot headed straight for the passenger side, slipping off his jacket before he got in. Elliot remembered what Toby had said in that first interview, about wearing a dress to Franco's, but he'd never seen any signs that Toby liked dressing up. Toby had never said anything or tried anything on, thank god, never fluttered his eyelashes like Millie, and maybe Elliot had found it easier to believe Toby had just thrown out that detail to discourage them about his value as a material witness. 

Toby hadn't been lying or making a joke. He'd really been in drag the night of the murder. Lipstick and god knew what else. Did he wear a Farrah Fawcett wig and drink from martini glasses? Did he have fake red nails, and call his rapist lover 'sugar'?"

"Elliot?"

"I'm sorry?"

He'd tried to wash it out of his mind, but now it was back in full colour: Toby in a red dress, on his knees in a filthy beige cubicle, wrapping his mouth around god-knew-what diseases.

"I asked if you want to go and talk to Horowitz or head back to the station?"

"You pick." He ignored her frown.

Elliot wondered - for the millionth time his week - about the woman Olivia dated. Had she been a full-time lesbian, or someone straight and confused? Had Liv been attracted to someone as stylish and sexy and feminine as she was, or was she comfortable enough to go after a woman with a buzz cut and a love of vests? Elliot wondered if he knew her.

Maybe he should have been obsessing over the hints Stalin dropped, but he already knew Toby had been mixed up in drugs, and Toby had admitted he'd tried to kill Vern. It sounded like the world might have been a better place if he'd succeeded. It was that dress, strewn across the floor, that wouldn't get out of Elliot's head. He'd overheard Stalin calling Toby a twisted bitch. Elliot wanted to pound the guy.

Elliot didn't have a problem with transvestites. He'd interviewed plenty, found justice for a few. They were just people, like everyone else, copping more than their fair share of hate crimes. But he wasn't attracted to them. The idea of Toby dolled up like that hit his gut hard with a deep, biting sense of wrong. He didn't want to see Toby in a dress. Didn't want to picture Toby in make up. Didn't want Toby to expect Elliot to get off with him playing a woman. That wasn't Toby. Apparently if Elliot was going to want a man he was going to go all the way, because he liked that Toby was muscled and hard, that he looked good in a business shirt. He didn't like the idea of Toby feminised.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Toby had been afraid to bring it up because he sensed Elliot would have a massive homophobic problem with it. But... Toby seemed happy enough with the sex. It hadn't seemed so far like Elliot wasn't gay enough or rough enough or adventurous enough. Elliot loved being with Toby - all the hard masculine angles, how he touched, how he smelled, the way he breathed when he was aroused. If he wasn't doing what Toby needed, Toby was going to have to tell him. But Elliot had been turned around on getting off with a man, and that was more than enough of a world shift, and how could Toby ask more of him than that?

It was all gone in the morning. Toby had slipped out of bed in the night without Elliot ever stirring and tidied it all away, and Elliot honestly didn't know if he'd let the subject lie because he was being sensitive to Toby, or because he dreaded it.

There had been a higher than usual rate of pervert activity, and there'd been Dickie's broken tooth, and plenty of other excuses, but if Elliot had wanted to see Toby, he would have found the time. Toby wasn't stupid. He had to know Elliot was avoiding him, probably put it down to how Stalin treated him.

Elliot was a complete asshole to let Toby believe that. And he missed Toby. And he didn't want to let this fester any longer. He didn't know if he could bring up the dress, but he had to stop avoiding him.

He waited until they reached the station, then waved Olivia ahead. He pulled out his phone and dialled.

"Change of plans?" Toby sounded cool.

"How about tomorrow?"

It was amazing how a silence could sound disbelieving. "Sure, Elliot."

"I mean it. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I really don't mind if you come late tonight," Toby said quietly.

Tonight would have been nice, but Elliot really was going to be stuck working late. "I don't want to drag you out of bed at two in the morning. I'll be there tomorrow."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot had shown up after all. He'd even been on time for dinner.

Now they were stuffed full of risotto, sacked out on the couch. Someone might think Elliot would have plenty to say after such a busy week at work, but they'd barely spoken. It was small-talk through dinner: Elliot had a really good lunch with Kathleen today; Toby's mother was going to Vermont next weekend; Lizzie wanted to go to a boy band concert; wasn't the weather pleasant? And now it was just... quiet. Like the other shoe, waiting to drop.

Toby didn't realise he was rubbing his arm until Elliot took over. It lasted just a couple of minutes, and then Elliot tugged Toby around to lie back against his chest, reaching around to work his thumbs gently along Toby's aching forearm. His fingers were gentle, but Toby couldn't relax. "It bothers you sometimes."

"Sometimes."

"Was it broken in Oz?"

"Yeah." Toby waited, but Elliot seemed willing to leave it at that. Very sensitive of him.

Some days Toby was content. Elliot made him feel cared for, and worthy of it, and Toby hadn't ever really believed he could feel that way again. Other days he felt how much this paled to the roller coaster of Chris, and his fingers itched to fuck it all up, to loose the anger that simmered under Elliot's skin and see if he had half the passion that raged through Chris. Sure, Elliot would rub his aches, pick him up from the airport, talk Holly out of a funk. But would he kill a mailroom full of Aryans for him? Would he lay Toby's life to waste just because he couldn't bear to be apart? Chris would have snapped Stalin's neck, and to hell with what Toby wanted.

"Have you heard back from the parole board about Harry's birthday, yet?"

"Not yet. You know government bureaucracy." Toby didn't believe for a second that was why he hadn't heard back about his application to visit San Diego, and he was sure Elliot didn't either. Stalin was just that kind of asshole.

Toby knew he was in a mood because for a whole week he'd been stewing, waiting for Elliot to show up and ask what Stalin meant about stabbing someone, or to demand an explanation for the dress that had been left on the floor. Elliot had cancelled three times this week. Important leads, suspects to interrogate. Nothing to do with the stark reminder that Toby came from the other side of the bars.

After all the fancy words about not thinking less of him, Elliot had been avoiding him ever since he saw what a pussy bitch Toby had been for his pre-pubescent parole officer. Now he waltzed back in, pretending he wasn't bothered? Bullshit.

The only way to find out if Elliot saw the dress was to ask, and Toby was never going to talk about the dress, not with Elliot. Especially when there was a decent chance Elliot hadn't seen it at all, and Toby was being paranoid. He didn't know why he still had it. It had been stuffed back there for months, forgotten until Stalin dragged it out.

Untouched until the other night, when Toby found himself pulling it out, stroking the fabric and remembering how it felt against his skin as he squeezed through the crowd at Franco's. Long after Holly fell asleep, Toby pushed his clothes hamper against his bedroom door and stripped in front of the mirror. Prison muscle, toned by fear and boredom. A shell to hide the scrawny geek that walked into Oz nine years ago, but Stalin saw straight through.

Toby had slipped on the dress and stared into the mirror as he jerked off, dredging up memories of anonymous rough hands, pounding cocks. He'd worked and worked his cock but couldn't push himself over until Elliot snapped into the picture, growling "Get that fucking thing off," bending him over and fucking him hard.

Toby wanted to be fucked. He wanted rawness and passion and base animal need.

Elliot's hands moved up from Toby's forearm to knead his neck and shoulders. It felt nice. Just nice: soothing, but too gentle to really get the knots. Like so much with Elliot, because Elliot thought Toby was damaged.

Yes, Toby had his arms broken in Oz, but he'd climbed back. He'd been fucked and fucked over, but he didn't need pity and he didn't need kid gloves. Toby stood abruptly and turned to see Elliot's surprise. "Come on." He took his hand and pulled him to his feet, hauled him to the bedroom, stripping off both their shirts, meeting Elliot's curious smile with his own.

Surprise, Elliot. No pussy-footing around, tonight. 

Toby yanked open Elliot's fly as he stepped in and kissed him hard, for once not letting Elliot turn it sweet. He shoved Elliot's jeans down and worked on his own, pressed inside Elliot's mouth, swept his tongue deep, a hand curled behind his head to keep him close, not letting up until he felt Elliot give in and take his lead. Yeah, like that. They were both smiling as they stripped, and as soon as they were naked Toby pressed Elliot back to the bed, taking a good long look at the red lips and sparking eyes and full cock. Maybe Elliot wasn't entirely averse to an appetite. Toby kneeled over him and kissed him again, probing deep, groaning as Elliot's tongue chased Toby's. He rewarded him with a hand on his cock, a slow, firm grip making sure Elliot was all the way to hard. Elliot's hands grasped Toby's hips harder but not hard enough. Toby wanted them forceful. He wanted Elliot hungry.

He spread a hand across Elliot's chest, a little weight to pin him as he reached for the drawer, searching through by feel until he got his hands on the lube. He squeezed out just enough, watched the need growing on Elliot's face with satisfaction, watched his hand work it into Elliot's big, flushed cock until Elliot's hips were reaching, those tight abs flexing, body begging for more. Sexy as hell but not there yet. Toby shifted, one knee between Elliot's thighs high enough to brush his balls, one knee by Elliot's hip, and he held Elliot's gaze as he took a little more lube - just enough - and reached back to finger his own ass.

Elliot's lips parted and his eyes widened. Surprise, Elliot.

Toby worked his fingers in, wished they were Elliot's demanding entrance, wished Elliot's lips were at his ear, telling Toby to let him inside, open up, get ready 'cos I need you, Tobe, you sexy fucker, gonna fuck your tight pretty ass so fucking hard...

"Can't wait to feel you up here, El." Toby squeezed another finger in, slitting his eyes at the stretch after all these months of chastity. "It's all I've been thinking about."

Elliot was staring at his hand, mesmerised, unmoving.

"How do you want me?" Come on, Elliot. Get in the game. "You want me on my knees, ass in the air for you?" Toby licked Elliot's mouth, wet and dirty. "You want me sprawled on my back, knees at my ears?"

Elliot licked his own lips, where Toby had just been. "What's... what's more comfortable for you?"

Toby didn't want comfortable. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted Elliot to see Toby's brand and know it didn't matter.

Elliot let Toby direct him, pull him out of the way, no idea what a luxury this big roomy bed was. Not a narrow prison cot: no upper bunk to bump your head, no prying eyes of bored cons on the other side of the glass. In Oz there were no big fluffy pillows, to pile in the centre of the bed. Elliot looked like a bundle of nerves as he sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Toby set the scene. Toby spread himself over the pillow with his legs wide, ass high. Nice and easy for a first timer.

A bundle of nerves wasn't what Toby was chasing right now, but soon enough... Toby wiggled impatiently as Elliot dawdled around, until fingers brushed his ass, gentle fingers, circling, and then one skimming down the crack.

"Come on, Elliot. Want you inside me." Toby pressed his face into the bed, smothering dirtier words, harder demands.

After a moment Elliot shifted, the bed dipping as he moved behind Toby, kneeling between his feet.

Toby lifted his head, sucking in air. "That's it, Elliot. I'm not made of glass; you can just let go. I'm ready." He breathed out in anticipation. Elliot couldn't do this gently. He'd feel how good it was and let loose.

But Elliot's hand was resting on Toby's back, and nothing was happening.

Toby arched and looked back over his shoulder; Elliot was looking down as he worked his cock, the tips of his ears turning crimson as he stared at Toby's ass. His cock was a lot less than it had been a couple of minutes ago. "I'm sorry. Just give me a minute." He was tugging himself, with the face of a man contemplating a chore rather than a lover. "I'm sorry, Toby." He gave up and put his hands on his thighs. "I can't."

"All right." It took a moment for Toby to roll onto his back, and there was his erection, suddenly incongruous in the awkward quiet.

Elliot reached for it, more obliged than eager, and Toby jerked away. He didn't want a sympathy hand job from someone who'd just taken a look at his swastika-branded ass and wilted.

Toby slid off the bed and grabbed a pair of shorts from the drawer. What did he expect? Elliot had probably spent the past week picturing Toby in that dress.

"I'm sorry, Toby."

So much for showing Elliot that taking a cock up your ass didn't make you a bitch. He couldn't see anything but a victim. Toby wanted to tell him to get out. Go home. It wasn't hard to find someone else who'd treat him like a man, even if he was wearing a little red dress.

"It isn't you," Elliot said quietly.

"No, I'm sure it's a real turn-on that I was branded by a psychopath."

"For fuck's sake, Toby, not everything's about you." The flash of temper made Toby look again. Elliot was miserable, shame hunching his shoulders as he swung his feet over the other side of the bed, turning his back on Toby.

Toby wouldn't have pushed Elliot to bend over and take it yet, but he hadn't expected fucking Toby would be all that traumatic.

"It's me, all right? I've never done that before."

"Funny," Toby snarled. "The way you sucked my cock last week, I figured you were past the hetero freak-out."

"Fuck you, Toby." Elliot snatched up his briefs and jeans, yanking them on and reaching for his shirt. He left it untucked but buttoned it high before he swung back to face him, still chewing on words. "I'm not... I'm not some blushing virgin. I could write a damned textbook on anal penetration."

"It doesn't sound like fun when you call it that."

"It isn't fun whatever you call it." Elliot scrunched his face in revulsion. "That's not how I treat people I care about."

"It disgusts you."

Elliot's jaw worked. "Yeah. It does."

Puritanical prick. Then how disgusted must he be by Toby? Toby grabbed his shirt and covered himself.

"I've been trying to be okay with the idea of it ever since this whole thing started. I kept thinking, I got used to everything else, right? It turned out I like going down on you, so I just need to give it time, and maybe I'll figure out the appeal of doing that." He gestured vaguely towards the bed, distaste curling his lip. "But it's been four months, and every time I think about... doing that, I can't get the photos out of my mind."

"What photos?"

"Rape kit photos. Autopsy photos. Warner's clinical descriptions in court. Victims dragging out all the raw details." He rubbed his hands over his face, body curling in. "It's not you, Toby. It's nothing to do with what happened to you."

Toby was frozen in place. He couldn't summon a single word.

Elliot swallowed a few times. He wasn't looking anywhere near Toby. "You have to understand, Kathy and I had been together since... I had years of healthy, you know, great, loving, sex with Kathy before I..." Before he joined SVU. "And then suddenly there were days when I couldn't see anything but... There were times I couldn't stand to touch her. When you spend your days looking at photos of pelvic exams, getting kids to describe things that turn your stomach, cosying up to rapists to get a confession, you can't wash that shit out of your head." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Everything we've done... that's stuff I've done, from one side or the other."

But this was something he'd never done with Kathy. All of his experience with anal sex was assault.

Toby softened his voice. "You know anal sex has as much to do with rape as any other kind of sex, right? I want it because it feels good."

"I know that's the theory."

Hadn't Toby been in the same boat, once? He'd been dumbfounded when Chris rolled over and begged Toby to fuck him, baffled that he would ask for the pain and humiliation Vern had wreaked on Toby. "It's not degrading when it's something you want."

Elliot finally looked back and met his gaze, eyes clear. "You gonna tell me being with anonymous men in bathrooms made you feel good about yourself? I can't do it to you, Toby."

Shame burned in Toby's throat, and he didn't like it as much as he had in the stalls at Franco's. "I don't want from you what I got from them."

Elliot let out a puff of disbelief and stared at the floor. He rubbed his neck. "This is ridiculous. You're the one who's actually survived abuse, and I'm the one who can't..."

Toby didn't know if this was what Elliot wanted to hear right now, but Toby owed him some trust. He sat on the other side of the bed, keeping some distance. "I had a conjugal with Genevieve. In my first year, before Devlin cut them. Between the look in her eyes when she saw the brand, and... knowing Vern was waiting back in my pod... Our last night together, and I couldn't get it up." He'd never told anyone that. Not even Chris. "I wasn't surprised when I got the divorce papers."

His head jerked up. "She divorced you because you were raped?"

"I was a drunk, who couldn't even be a bad husband for the next four-to-fifteen. She didn't owe me a damned thing." Except to take care of their kids, and she'd failed spectacularly at that.

Elliot stared down at his hands. "What about Chris?"

"Chris never gave a damn. The brand was nothing to him." What was a scar, after everything they did to each other? Chris had kissed him there, sometimes, and it had made Toby feel good, like Chris didn't see it as anything different to his own bullet wound. Elliot would never see it that way.

If Chris found Toby trolling clubs in that dress... Chris would have told him to stop being a bitch, and then he would have ripped it off and fucked Toby like he owned him.

Chris would have told Elliot to stop being a bitch, too. If he was here right now, and he said it, Toby would have punched him. Elliot was no bitch. "I can't imagine what you've lived through, in all your years at SVU."

"I'm not a victim."

"Because that wouldn't be manly?"

Elliot shot him a scathing glare. "Because it doesn't happen to me."

"It happens to you every day."

"You can't compare-"

"I know how it creeps into your head, Elliot. Do you think finding out my children had been kidnapped by that Nazi fuck's son was less traumatic than being raped? I spent ten days waiting for that fucker to mail me a piece of Holly. Thinking if I'd just let Vern Schillinger keep on fucking me, my children might have been safe."

Shock whipped across Elliot's face. "Hank was Vern's son?"

Damn. He hadn't realised he'd never let that slip. He didn't want this to be about him. "Forget about that. I'm not-"

Elliot's hand closed over his wrist. "Vern sent his son to kidnap your children because you fought back?"

Because he fought back, because he drove Vern's younger son to overdose, because it was what came next in their war of mutual destruction. Toby brushed him away. "I'm not fishing for sympathy. I'm talking about you. You get in the hearts and minds of those people. Don't pretend there isn't a toll."

Elliot backed off. "Of course there's a toll. That's why I'm sitting here trying to explain why I can't fucking do what you're asking!" Humiliation was pulling Elliot's shoulders high, turning his hands into fists. "I can't see any way I'll ever be able to do that to you."

"What I want..." Toby wanted sex, but not like that. Not from someone unwilling. Never like that. "I want you to feel good. I want to make you feel good. I don't want you to feel guilty because I've pushed you into something that makes you uncomfortable."

"You didn't-"

"Didn't I?"

Elliot looked down. Yeah, Toby had given him a little taste of how it felt to be bullied in bed. Just one more thing to be proud of.

"Toby..."

Elliot wanted to ask about Vern and Hank. "Not tonight, all right? Please?" Sitting around hashing this to death was just making them both miserable. "Let's go clean the kitchen before the cockroaches come and carry it all away."

"All right."

Toby really hoped that Elliot wasn't going to look at him like that all night. He pulled on his jeans as they headed out. Yes, he wanted to fuck. Even if it was just now and then, he wanted Elliot to drag him to the bed and shove his knees to his chest and sink two fingers up Toby's ass without a 'please' or an 'are you sure?', too hungry for Toby for niceties. It was the hunger Toby wanted, the possession, as much as the pure pleasure of being filled. Or the view of strong arms bracing against the bed posts, knees spread wide, Elliot growling, 'Is that all you've got, Tobe? C'mon, fuck me,' as Toby pounded him and Elliot still begged for more. Elliot was never going to give him that.

There wasn't much cleaning to do. Elliot had tidied as Toby served up, so they just finished packing the dishwasher and wiped the counter. Too much awkward silence. They could fill it with platitudes, but they both knew Toby wanted more, and they both knew Elliot wasn't going to give it. They both knew Elliot wasn't ever going to look at Toby's ass and not see his job.

Elliot caught Toby's elbow and tugged him closer. Toby went willingly, grateful for the arms that came around him. He should have been the one reaching out.

The least he could do was say it first. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

"I'm sorry I can't give you what you want."

Toby shook his head. "You give me all sorts of things I want." And in return, Toby treated him like a second-rate substitute. Maybe he could do something to fix that. "You know what I want?" He pulled away, pressed Elliot to stay where he was while he scooped up the new keys from the side table. He dropped them in Elliot's hand. "When you work into the middle of the night, I want you to know you don't have to worry about waking me. I made an extra set after you cancelled the other night."

A smile caught the edge of Elliot's mouth as he turned them over.

"This way, you can just crawl in." He tugged at Elliot's shirt. "And then, if you want to wake me..."

"Thank you, Toby."

"It's not a big deal. I'm just too lazy to get up to answer the door."

"It's a big deal." Elliot kissed him, looking a hell of a lot better than he had five minutes ago.

"Come on." Enough heavy talk. "Let's watch TV. I'll even let you have the remote."


	27. Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 26, Nice:  
> Elliot had a new bad habit of breaking dates with Toby, haunted by the dress Stalin had left on Toby's bedroom floor.  
> The lingering humiliation from Stalin's visit left Toby chafing at the blandness of his relationship with Elliot, missing Chris's passion. He wanted Elliot to take off the kid gloves, so he dragged him to the bedroom and pushed Elliot to fuck him. That didn't work out so well. Elliot has too many years at SVU and no good associations with anal sex.

Maureen had found a cafe that specialised in pies, and staked out a table on the sidewalk. The good weather almost made the passing traffic worthwhile. He picked up the menu as he slid into his seat and she pulled it away. "You want the apple pie."

"I might be in the mood for cherry pie."

"Trust me, you want the apple." She caught his reaching hand and turned it over to see the scar. "Ouch. Are all the stitches out?" It was the first time she'd seen him since the bandages came off.

"All gone."

"Show me."

Elliot looked around. "Here?"

"It's not your ass, Dad. I want to see how bad it looks."

Elliot didn't want her to see how bad it looked, but fighting would only make it seem like a big deal so he leaned back and worked his shirt out of his pants, lifted it to show the ugly red line across his abdomen.

Maureen looked like she regretted asking. "One day you're not going to be so lucky."

"I'm fine."

"You got stabbed, Dad. That's not fine."

"It looks a lot worse than it is." He asked about her new job to change the subject, dug for details on her friends.

Their food came, and she was right; these were really good pies. Elliot was going to have to bring Toby here. He wondered if Toby had tried his hand at apple pie. Unfortunately, shoving food in his mouth gave Maureen a chance to seize control of the conversation. "What have you been doing?"

"The usual. I'm back on full duties."

"Is that all?"

Elliot floundered. What else was she expecting to hear? "You want to hear I took up tap dancing? I think I've got a future on Broadway?" He wasn't going to tell her he was losing sleep over his male lover's penchant for anal sex and cross-dressing, still smarting a little from last night's fight.

"Dad." Maureen sighed. "I worry about you."

Elliot almost spat his coffee. "You worry about me?"

"Being on your own. You're the kind of guy who needs people to take care of. I don't like the idea of you coming home to an empty apartment."

He put his cup down and tried not to gape. When did she start to notice he was a person, rather than just her father? Five minutes ago she was wearing braces and whining about curfew.

"You should get out. Try to date."

If only she knew. "My twenty year-old daughter's giving me dating advice."

"Twenty-one, Dad. And yeah, someone has to. I'll bet you haven't even tried."

"Yeah, I have." He said it to turn the tables, and then saw her eyes pop and realised too late he'd just thrown her a bone, and she wasn't going to let it go. He stabbed his pie. Maybe he should let her loose in the interrogation room.

"Really? Like, honest-to-goodness, taking women out to dinner and getting to know them romantically?"

Elliot ran through about five different ways to lie his way out of this, as all the months of simmering fears about telling his kids knotted up in his gut, doubled down with Toby's dire warnings about being out at work, but with Maureen talking to him like they were two adults, he couldn't lie to her. That didn't mean she needed to know all the intimate details of his sex life.

"Dad?"

"Maureen, I don't want to talk about it."

"Too late. I could set you up with an online dating profile, if you want."

"No! No, Maureen, don't even..."

"There's nothing wrong with online dating."

"I didn't say there was." Though he could have reeled off fifteen or twenty cases that said differently, and even if he couldn't, no way in hell would Elliot do it.

"What about meet-ups?"

She wasn't going to let it go. He touched the new keys in his pocket, let out a slow breath and stepped off the cliff. "I'm already seeing someone."

Maureen hung forward over the table, oblivious to the plummet going on in Elliot's gut. "Seriously, Dad? For how long?"

He had to do the math in his head, and... "Just over four months now." It seemed a hell of a lot longer than that. That was going from the day he kissed Toby, not counting the months of obliviousness before he realised.

"Four months isn't dating. That's a relationship! Why didn't you tell us?"

Four months was definitely some kind of relationship. "I've been worried about how you'd feel about it." He couldn't tell if her expression said she was touched he worried, or she thought it was cute. He tried not to sigh.

"You know I don't have any stupid fantasies about you and Mom getting back together, right? What's her name? Can I meet her?"

Another one of those careful breaths out. Either he trusted his own daughter, or he didn't. He could do this. "It's a man."

Her eyes opened wide, and then narrowed, and then she cracked a grin and burst out laughing, her whole body shaking with it.

Elliot watched, bemused.

Maureen laughed and laughed, until she was clutching her stomach and fighting off giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh god, you really had me there for a second." She was off again. Other diners were watching and smiling.

This wasn't what Elliot had been expecting. But he hadn't seen her laugh like this in a long time, and he almost didn't mind. Maybe he even smiled, a little. "You're laughing at me." Elliot had been bracing himself for shock and judgement. He didn't have a plan for making anyone believe he was telling the truth.

She took a while to get her composure back, finally wiping her eyes. "That was good, Dad."

"Are you sure you're done?" That sent her into another fit of giggles. Elliot stole the remains of her pie while he waited for her to calm down.

Finally she sighed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and rubbed her stomach. "So do you have a girlfriend or have you been pulling my leg this whole time?" Another giggle bubbled up.

It was his last chance for an out. He pulled out his wallet and dug behind the pictures of his kids, slipped Holly's polaroid photo across the table. "His name's Toby."

Maureen stared at him, picked up the photo and stared at that. "You're not joking."

"Nope."

"But you're so..."

Elliot raised an eyebrow. Something about the way her nose was wrinkling said it wasn't complimentary.

"You're dating a man," she said instead.

Elliot shrugged, still waiting for some sign of how bad this was going to be. Maureen was studying the picture. In it Toby looked like an average, friendly guy, a suggestion of wit in his eyes.

"Is he a cop?" She glanced up, but didn't surrender the photo.

"No. He works in real estate."

"I didn't think you knew anyone but cops."

Elliot didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. "You think I'm some kind of cartoon character, don't you?"

She raised an eyebrow, exactly how she'd learned from her mother. Sometimes the resemblance made Elliot's breath catch. "How many friends do you have who aren't cops?"

He didn't need both hands to count. "I liked it better when you thought I was some kind of superhero dad."

She grinned and patted his hand. "I still do. You're really... Can I meet this guy?"

He wasn't ready for that. But it felt wrong, the way his life was cleaved in two. Maybe it was time, whether he was ready or not. "I suppose so." In fact... "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like him to meet you." He'd like that: watching Toby chat to Maureen the way Elliot talked to Holly. He had to tell the others first. He couldn't let Maureen in and not the rest of the tribe. He had to tell Kathy. He definitely wasn't ready for that.

Elliot had to come out to his family. Shit.

Maureen kept looking at the photo, oblivious to Elliot's silent panic attack. "What's he like? Where did you meet him?"

They could skip right past the second question. "He's..." Elliot had no idea how to sum up Toby. "He has kids; he's a good father." He wondered what she saw in the photo.

"He has kids? Have you met them?"

"I met his daughter Holly. She's eleven. She's a sweet kid. He has a son, too, but he lives in California."

"Does she know you're together?"

"She figured it out."

"So he's a father. And he works in real estate."

He was supposed to be grilling Maureen about the guys she dated, not the other way around. "I don't know, Maureen. He's a good guy. He's smart. He likes cooking. He's a really good cook. He likes to read. And talk about feelings."

"You're smiling."

"Am I?"

She nodded, looking pleased.

Elliot snatched back the photo and tucked it away.

"Does Mom know?"

"No."

"Does anyone?"

Elliot started to shake his head, then realised he was only counting family. "Olivia does." And now Maureen. "Listen, can you keep this to yourself for now? If Kathleen finds out I told you first, she'll never forgive me."

"Kathleen should get over herself."

"And I owe it to your mom to... She shouldn't be the last."

Ten minutes ago he hadn't seriously planned to tell anyone. Now he didn't have a choice.

Elliot could tell Maureen was feeling a little gloaty about being the first to know, but she reined it in. "You might want to be careful with how you tell Kathleen."

"Why?"

"She bought all that 'homosexuality is a sin' hellfire stuff. She's not going to like it."

Great. Just as they got on an even keel, Kathleen had a fresh reason to hate him. Elliot reached across and squeezed Maureen's hand. "Thank you."

She looked surprised. "For what?"

"For taking this so well."

She gave a half-shrug. "I want you to be happy, Dad."

She said it like she might have tagged a 'duh' on the end if she'd been a few years younger, and Elliot's eyes pricked. "I'll make sure you meet him soon."

"Lunch next week?"

Not that soon. "I don't know, Maureen. I'll talk to him. I'll see when he's free." And if Toby was ready to meet Maureen. Elliot had kind of dropped him in it, there. "I'm not just going to spring you on him."

"You really love this guy."

"What? No, it's not..." Elliot wasn't twenty, and he didn't throw that word around on any relationship that lasted longer than a week. This wasn't the starry-eyed wonder he'd had for Kathy when they were seventeen, before he had anything else of importance in his life. It wasn't the bone-deep bond he had after a couple of decades building a family with her, either. But it was something. "I care about him."

Maureen studied him, mulling more awkward questions to ask. Elliot reminded himself that this was good practice: Kathleen and the twins wouldn't bother with diplomacy.

"Have you always liked men?"

"No! Maureen, I loved your mother. You can't think-"

"That doesn't mean you didn't know you liked men, too."

"No. It's just Toby." Elliot hadn't looked at other men. He was pretty solidly focused on one.

Maureen's eyes went wide. "Wow. That must have been-"

"Maureen."

He didn't want her to go near it. He wouldn't discuss something like that with his kids on the best day, and no way in hell would be go near it when he was still feeling raw from last night's fight. Elliot was over his - what had Toby called it? hetero freak-out? - in the bedroom, but it had only just begun with his family.

Even if this had gone well so far. Impulsively, he tugged Maureen closer and kissed her forehead. "You turned out pretty well, you know that?"

She grinned. "How did it happen?"

 

Elliot dropped Maureen off at her apartment and drove home. He pulled up in front of his own building, took his keys from the ignition and sat, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got about introducing Toby to Maureen. As a matter of fact... Yeah. Elliot was ready.

Maybe he even had a point to prove, after that awful mess last night.

The way his dick withered when he stared at that hellish scar and wondered how Toby could ask Elliot to do that to him. Toby's taunts making him feel like a dumbass kid. Elliot knew Toby was a brutal asshole when he felt cornered, but it didn't make it easier to take the brunt of it while he was half-naked and flashing back on the worst cases of his career. Maybe the legendary Chris Keller knew how to shrug off Toby's abuse but Elliot couldn't unsee thirteen years of rape kit photos.

In the end they got their shit together and talked like adults, but even then Elliot couldn't dig up the courage to say something about the knot in his gut ever since he saw the dress Stalin had left on the floor.

Elliot didn't know how to fix any of that, but if that was all that was wrong, they'd figure it out. Twenty years of marriage had taught Elliot that if everything else was good, if you trusted each other, it took more than problems in bed to wreck a relationship. He pressed his fingers to the new keys on his ring. Everything else was better than good.

He hadn't needed or wanted to tell his family about Toby before this because on some level, he hadn't expected it to last. It wasn't their business to know if he was going though some weird phase or mid-life crisis. But he was sure now, it wasn't either of those things. Elliot wasn't going to let Toby go anywhere.

He wanted Toby to know all his kids, be tangled up in their lives, because Toby was family, too. He loved Toby.

Elliot let his head slump back on the head rest. That one had crept up, and he couldn't believe he didn't see it coming. Maureen had seen it, even before Elliot knew. Over four months with Toby, and on some level he still hadn't believed he could love a man the way he'd loved Kathy. He'd turned gay and he was still a prejudiced idiot. Who knew it could work that way?

Elliot was going to have to tell Kathy he was in love with a man. He couldn't even imagine how he- 

He had to tell Toby first.

Elliot turned the keys around his fingers. He was assuming Toby was ready to hear it. Elliot had noticed Toby sometimes put a little distance when they got close, but with all the baggage he was carrying, not everything was about Elliot. Elliot needed to put it out there. Maybe Toby felt the same way, maybe he didn't. But Elliot wanted Toby to know how much he mattered. 

And he did matter. It was time for Elliot to be a man about this. He was going to be forty in a couple of months, and before that clock ticked over Toby was going to be a real part of his life. His kids were going to know who he was, and what Toby meant to him.

He climbed out of the car, fishing out his phone as he headed up to his apartment.

"Hey, what's up?"

Elliot smiled. "Just calling to say hi."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot rapped on the glass of Cragen's open door. "Captain? Can I have a moment?"

It wasn't surprising that Cragen looked surprised as he waved him in. Elliot couldn't remember the last time he'd stepped in here for a private conversation by choice.

He pulled the door shut behind him, squashing the urge to turn the blinds as Cragen's eyebrows rose.

"Is there a development I should know about?"

"On the case? No. Liv and I are going to head out and talk to the co-workers. This is, ah, a personal matter." He hated those two words. "Kathy told me she came to see you, to tell you you had to call her if anything happened."

Cragen sat back. "She expressed her opinion on the matter."

Wow. Kathy must have really kicked up a storm. "I understand. But it's not her decision."

"No, it's not - it's yours, and you still have her listed as your next-of-kin. If you want to submit new paperwork, I'll-"

"I can't." Elliot swallowed, and Cragen frowned. Elliot took the paper that had been in his pocket for the past couple of days, and slid it across the desk. "If anything happens to me, this should be your first call."

"The form is easy to-"

"I don't want it on any official documents."

An eyebrow went up, and Cragen unfolded the note. "Tobias Beecher?"

"He's my... friend." Elliot laid the pause carefully, saw the spark of surprise in Cragen's eye that said he'd understood. Just that spark: no shock, or disgust, or amusement. Relief made Elliot's breath stick in his lungs. He had to remember this moment the next time he got his back up at the captain's interference.

"In certain situations..."

"Where procedure says you have to follow the official paperwork, I trust your judgement." If things were ever that dire, Kathy needed to know anyway. And he still trusted her to know him above anyone, even Toby. She had the right to his power of attorney. But he wanted Toby to be the first call.

There was a moment of quiet. Elliot wanted to bolt, but he let Cragen have his time to digest. He'd earned that with his silent acceptance.

"Do you have plans to let anyone else know of your wishes?"

"Olivia knows."

"All right." He folded the sheet and slid it inside his jacket. "If you ever need anything, Elliot, you let me know."

"Thank you, Captain. And... thank you."


	28. Loophole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 27, Pie:  
> Elliot accidentally outed himself over pie with Maureen. Once she stopped laughing, it went surprisingly well.   
> Afterwards Elliot mused on the lingering shame from the sex-gone-wrong, and then realised he was in love with Toby, and was ready for this to be a real relationship.  
> The first step was telling Cragen that Toby was his emergency call.

Elliot shuffled into the bathroom in his briefs. The sweet smell of Toby's soap still hung damp in the air. That had been great sex. Incredible sex. Touching everywhere, licking everywhere, showing Toby with his hands and mouth what he couldn't say out loud yet. He'd had to bite down the words when he came down Toby's throat, his toes curling, his whole body shuddering. He'd been thinking them as he returned the favour. Elliot was still refining his technique, and maybe part of the incredible had come from Elliot's new awareness of his feelings, but there was no mistaking that dazed and sated look of complete satisfaction when Elliot wriggled up to kiss Toby afterwards. He couldn't imagine how adding the discomfort of penetration could make it better than this.

Toby wandered back in to hang his damp towel, scratching his bare chest. He'd only bothered to throw on a pair of boxers, and he'd already switched his contacts for glasses. Elliot liked him in glasses: a touch of geek on that ripped body.

"I forgot to ask: how was your date with Maureen?"

Elliot finished pissing and flushed. Okay. Here they went. "Terrifying."

Toby gave Elliot his full attention.

Elliot washed his hands, trying to find the best way to say it. "She said I should try dating."

Toby smirked. "Oh, really?"

"She was all gung-ho to sign me up for the dating websites." He turned off the taps, grabbed the hand towel.

Toby chuckled, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Doesn't really sound like your speed."

"I told her about you."

"Oh." Toby sat hard on the edge of the bath.

"She wants to meet you."

Toby didn't answer. He looked slightly green.

Elliot put the towel down, took a deep breath. "Did I screw up?"

"No." Toby didn't look as certain as he sounded. He wasn't ready for this.

Elliot should have known better, should have put Maureen off longer. "We don't have to; I told her maybe-"

"You told her I'm a man."

"Yes. I told her. I even showed her your picture."

He took a moment to swallow that. "Did you tell her I've been in prison?"

Elliot's mouth hung open a moment. "No."

"That I'm an addict? That I killed a little girl?"

"No. That isn't anyone's business."

Toby dropped his head and huffed a bitter laugh. "You wouldn't think it was your business if Kathy was dating an ex-con?"

No way, no how, no chance. 

"Hypocrite." Toby winced as soon as he said it.

"Don't apologise." Elliot knew it. He was a hypocrite. He sat beside Toby on the edge of the bath, four hairy white knees in a row. "But you're different."

There was a long pause. "You tell them whatever you feel is right, but if it comes up, I won't lie."

That seemed fair. And Elliot couldn't think of any way it might come up, so that was safe. "So you will meet her?"

"I guess the cat's out of the bag." He leaned over to bump shoulders. "You think I'm not curious to meet one of the junior Stablers?"

"I suppose." He had every reason to be as curious as Elliot was about Toby's family.

"I didn't think you were ready to tell them."

Elliot wanted to argue, reassure Toby with his confidence, but Toby would have seen straight through him. "I wasn't. It just came out. She kept pushing me about finding a woman, and she looked so grown-up... It turns out I am ready; I just didn't know it."

"All right." Toby nodded. "You realise if Maureen knows..."

Elliot realised, all right. He'd started drafting up ways to make the announcement. "I can't wait much longer to tell the others. I know. But I was thinking of making Maureen a trial run. If you two get along, she'll have my back when I tell the rest of them."

Toby dragged his fingers along the edge of the bath. "How did Maureen take it?"

"You mean after she stopped laughing?"

Toby grinned, sudden and bright. "I like her already."

"You're sure you're okay with me telling her?"

"It's not up to me. She's your family."

"It doesn't seem like you want me to tell anyone."

Toby pushed his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. "I said you shouldn't wave a pride flag at work. Family's different. What you tell your family... that's none of my business."

Of course it was his business. Elliot wished Toby would just come out and say whatever he was thinking. And yeah, Elliot was a hypocrite. "Didn't you tell me 'None of my business,' is code for 'It bothers me but I'll keep my mouth shut'?"

Toby turned that over for a couple of minutes, staring at the tiles the whole time. "If this is a disaster, you're still going to be her father. You'll figure it out. I'm going to be the emotionally screwed-up convict who turned her dad gay."

Elliot put his hand on Toby's bare knee. "You're the guy who crawled back from hell and made her dad happy." Elliot almost tacked on an 'I love you,' but held it back. It had been on the tip of his tongue tonight, to make sure Toby knew this was more than just sex, but Elliot wasn't sure Toby was ready to hear it. He was going to hold onto that for a while. 

"All right." It wasn't a reply to Elliot's reassurance so much as the whole idea. 

Maybe Elliot was holding onto the words because he was afraid that Toby wasn't ready to say it back.

Toby stood and crossed to the door, turned to face him. Standing there in his flimsy shorts and wire-rim glasses. Sexy as hell. "When?"

"Maureen suggested next week, but I said you might need more-"

"No. No, let's get this over with. The sooner the better. Tomorrow or the day after. No, Holly's here the day after, and then I've got her all week."

"She could meet Holly too."

"I guess. Yes, okay. But what if Holly pulls the same shit she pulled with Harry?"

It was fun, seeing Toby this flustered. How could Elliot not love him? "Maureen isn't a nine year-old boy."

"Do I have to cook?"

Elliot laughed and stood, tugging Toby into his arms. Toby's fit of nerves was blowing away Elliot's own. Of course Maureen would like him. "Whatever you want. It's just Maureen, not the parole board."

"Do you know how long it's been since I cared if a complete stranger judged me?"

Elliot pulled Toby's face against his neck, glasses frames poking his ear, buried a hand in his hair. Toby smelled good, shampoo clinging to him, and his skin was still soft and warm from the shower. If Elliot hadn't come barely half an hour ago, he'd be tugging off those shorts. "Let's go out for dinner. I couldn't stand seeing you put this much stress into a menu plan."

There was a burst of air against his neck.

Elliot wanted to lick all that fresh, clean skin until Toby forgot to worry what anyone else thought. Maureen was going to love him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot tugged the cocktail list out of Toby's grip and gave him a menu instead.

"She'll like me a lot more with a martini in me."

"No she won't. This apple pie will humble you."

"God, I haven't had apple pie in... Gen used to make apple pie." There was real longing in his eyes.

"Are you really craving a drink?"

"Always." Toby glanced towards the cocktails again, looked up with a wry smile.

Elliot never thought much about what hard work it was for Toby to stay sober. "What about..." Elliot looked around, just to make sure Maureen hadn't crept up behind him. "What about the other stuff? Do you miss that, too?"

Toby shrugged. "Nobody's putting lines of heroin in front of me." He caught the way Elliot shuddered, and seemed to remember that normal white collar fathers didn't talk about snorting heroin while sitting at sidewalk tables at cafes. He dipped his head. "No, I don't miss that. Alcohol was always my weakness." He waved the menu. "Tonight it will be pie."

Elliot hadn't meant to shame Toby. "You know if you ever need someone to talk you out of a package store, some kind of distraction from the craving, you can call me, right?"

"I have." Toby held his gaze, unashamed.

Right. Of course he had. "Good." Elliot wondered when. Maybe it was best not to wonder, and just be glad he had. Concentrate on how good Toby looked, still wearing his grey suit from work, blue tie helping his eyes catch the afternoon sun. He'd dressed up for Maureen. Or at least he hadn't dressed down after work, even though he'd obviously stopped home for a fresh shave. "You're wearing a tie."

"I wear a tie every day."

"You usually take it off as soon as you step out the door of your office."

Toby huffed. "You're wearing a tie."

"I wear ties all the time."

"So I'm wearing a tie, will you just... shut up?"

Elliot grinned. "Let's go somewhere next weekend."

"Go somewhere?"

"You, me and Holly. There are some nice beaches east of here. Or we could go the other way, spend the day at Bear Mountain. A day trip." It had probably been a long time since Toby got out of the city. "Fresh air, the last days of summer..."

"All right." Toby gave a cautious smile. "What's at Bear Mountain?"

"It's got some really nice hiking trails. Swimming, fishing. They've got a small zoo. Bird-watching, if you like that kind of thing."

"Sounds nice. I don't think I've been hiking since college."

Elliot was ordering three slices of apple pie as Maureen breezed into the restaurant. She gave Elliot half a hug before turning to take in Toby, accepting his hand and leaning in to kiss his cheek. "It's so cool to meet you, Toby!"

Toby smiled, obviously relieved by the enthusiastic greeting. "It's nice to meet you, Maureen. I've heard a lot about you."

She sat and they followed. "I'd never heard anything about you until this week." She stared, openly. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Dad to tell me it was April Fool's." She shot Elliot a look. "When I was six, he had me convinced for weeks that our neighbour painted the spots on his dalmation."

Elliot laughed. He'd forgotten all about that. She'd spent those weeks peeking through the fence, trying to catch them at it.

"I had my son Gary convinced that our cousins raised humpless camels."

"Dad said Gary lives in California?"

Toby swallowed, and Elliot wondered if he should have prepared this better. "Harry lives in San Diego. Gary died."

Maureen froze, wide-eyed. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I brought him up."

Elliot was glad he was starting with Maureen. If all the tribe was here, one of them would have followed up by asking how Gary died, or if Harry lived with his mother, or why the kids were split up.

"My daughter Holly lives with me in Brooklyn."

"What's she like?"

Holly was just the right subject to get him talking, and it was impossible not to like Toby when he was bubbling with affection for his daughter. Elliot relaxed as Maureen laughed. He was feeling pretty affectionate himself.

Toby leaned forward on the table. "How about you, Maureen? Hobbies?"

"I play tennis. I've just started to learn swing dancing."

Elliot blinked. "Swing dancing?"

"I went to my first lindy hop a couple of weeks ago. It was fun."

Maureen talked a little about dancing - which she'd never mentioned to Elliot before - but when the food came, she turned it back to Toby. "I want to know about you. You and Dad have been seeing each other for four months? What have you been doing all this time?"

Toby and Elliot shared a glance. They weren't going to talk about what they'd been doing lately. "Eating out, mostly," Toby said. "I think we've eaten everywhere in Brooklyn that doesn't have a novelty cartoon character for a logo."

"We played basketball a couple of times," said Elliot. They hadn't spent all their time stuffing their faces.

"This pie's incredible," said Toby. He turned thoughtful as he took another bite, obviously guessing at the spice mix, and then he poked around the edge of the crust. 

"I meant to ask if you know how to make pie."

"Holly and I haven't tackled it, but it might be next on the list."

Elliot could see his mind ticking over, a sure sign there was apple pie in their future. "Toby's a hell of a cook," he told Maureen.

"It was him!" She turned to Toby. "You made that roast dinner with Dad."

"I did some coaching, but my hands stayed clean."

"It's true, he didn't help at all."

Elliot didn't know what Maureen was smiling at until he saw Toby's surprised look, and realised he was resting a hand on Toby's back. It was the first time he'd touched Toby like that in public. Partly because, maybe, they'd barely been out in public since they started touching each other. But right now, sandwiched between Toby and Maureen, the pair of them getting along so well, it felt easy. Like maybe it wouldn't be a thing to tell the rest of the family, and the scattering of homophobes on the force could just get the hell over it. Elliot rubbed a couple of circles before he pulled back, just to prove it wasn't an accident, and he liked the warm look he got in return.

"Toby, have you always lived in New York?"

Elliot saw Toby tense, braced himself for Toby to tell Maureen more than she needed to hear. Not yet, Toby.

"Mostly. Around New York and Massachusetts. I went to school in Boston."

"Which school?"

"Harvard."

"Wow. What did you study?"

Elliot sighed. "Maureen, you don't need to bombard him with-"

"Come on, Dad: this is turnabout for all my friends that you've interrogated. Now it's my turn to play the over-protective cop." A sly glance from Maureen was all the warning he had before she leaned towards Toby. "Is Dad the first guy you've-"

"Maureen!"

Toby waved him back. "You can't blame her for being curious, Elliot. No, he isn't. And I studied contract law. You're doing biology at Hudson?"

He neatly directed her back to talking about school and her new lab job until his phone rang. He checked the screen and stood. "I'm sorry. I have to take this."

"Of course." She turned to Elliot as he left. "Does his job call at all hours, too?"

"That'll be Holly. He always answers when she calls, no matter what."

"Because of his son? What happened to him?"

Elliot had always shied away from telling his kids about this stuff. But this was Toby, not work. "Gary was murdered."

"That's awful." Maureen looked sadly in the direction Toby had gone. "Is that how you met him? You worked his case?"

"No, it happened years ago. I met him as a witness." Elliot shifted in his seat. "He's got a lot of bad experiences in his past. I'd rather we didn't dig through it all just yet, all right?"

"Of course." She leaned in. "I like him, Dad. I like how happy you are with him."

He was happy. Seeing Toby and Maureen get on was a load off his shoulders. Maybe telling everyone else didn't have to be so terrifying. Maybe Toby would be cooking for his family this Thanksgiving. The idea of all his kids and Holly crowded together around the table, squabbling over the last scraps of Toby's roast turkey, made him feel stupidly sentimental. Maybe by Christmas, Harry could be there too. Toby would like that. Holly, not so much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby reached out and fumbled off his alarm. He was warm and melty, relaxed like he'd slept for days. Or like he'd slept with Elliot's arm wrapped across his waist.

Toby wriggled around to see Elliot, a little blurry but stubble-cheeked and frowning and sexy. Vague memories filtered through, of Elliot sliding in beside him during the night, shushing him back to sleep, murmuring that he just wanted to hold him. Holding him tight.

Toby brushed a kiss over his mouth. "What time did you come in?"

Elliot didn't open his eyes. "Jus' pas' three."

"I hope that means you've got the morning off."

"Mm-hm."

Toby couldn't help kissing him again. "Go back to sleep." It was tempting to take advantage, tease him awake, but it looked like sleep was what he needed. There'd be time for taking advantage later. Toby peeked anyway. "Elliot?"

"Uh?"

"You might want to sleep in shorts when Holly's home. She doesn't crawl in that often, but..."

That opened an eye. "Crawl in?"

"Nightmares."

Two eyes open. Maybe Toby shouldn't have dropped that titbit when he was trying to get Elliot back to sleep.

"Don't worry about it." Since Elliot was awake anyway, Toby stole a longer, deeper kiss. "I have to get up and have breakfast with her. Go back to sleep."

Toby fumbled on his glasses and slipped out, pulling on a t-shirt and closing the bedroom door behind him.

Holly was already at the table, pouring milk on her cereal. "Can I have a gecko?"

"No."

"They're really easy to look after. They eat crickets."

"No."

"Can I have some money? Fadia said her mom would take us to the bookstore."

Toby threw a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. "You got your pocket money three days ago."

"I spent it already."

I don't think you understand the concept of pocket money."

"Daaaaad."

"I am not a giving tree."

"What if I iron your shirts?"

Toby sat down at the table. "Now you're talking."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot shut his phone, mind racing.

"Elliot!" His head jerked up. It hadn't been the first time Olivia said his name. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know."

She came closer. "Was that Cragen?"

"FBI. Are you okay here? I have to get back to the station."

"Sure. I'll get a lift with Warner."

The agent on the phone wanted to talk about their 'mutual acquaintance', Tobias Beecher. He had to have gotten Elliot's name through that scumbag Stalin. The agent had brushed off Elliot's assurance that Toby was never under investigation, insisted he was just after information from Elliot's informant.

So he bought the line about Toby helping out the NYPD. But what the hell did the FBI want with Toby?

Elliot climbed into the car and pulled out his phone. Agreeing to meet this Agent Pierce Taylor felt like a betrayal, as if after all these months of leaving Toby's file untouched he'd found a loophole into his past, but he couldn't see how to refuse. So maybe he should call Toby. But maybe this was nothing, not worth worrying him.

Or maybe it was about Hank Schillinger. Elliot's hand clenched around the phone. What if Toby really had ordered the hit on Gary's killer? Mafia hits definitely strayed into FBI territory.

If there was trouble, the best he could do was warn Toby it was coming. He'd stand by him.

He started running through the worst of the defence lawyers, and then realised Toby probably had better contacts than he did. Elliot was ready to defend a murderer. He prayed it didn't come to that.

He needed to call Toby.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby munched on his sandwich and nodded at the young woman pushing her stroller past. He saw her here most days while he was eating his lunch, enough that they always exchanged nods, or sometimes a hello. Most of the office ate inside, but Toby treasured every second of sunshine he could get. He'd probably still be eating out here in the depths of winter, brushing snow off his sandwiches.

He was thinking he might cook up a picnic for the trip to Bear Mountain this weekend. Chicken sandwiches, maybe a rice salad. Talk Holly into baking a slice to snack on while they were hiking the trails.

Is this what he could look forward to once the dust settled on Elliot telling his kids? Stabler family outings? It was hard to imagine, but Elliot had decided to talk to Kathy this weekend, looking like a man determined to storm that castle no matter what.

Toby felt a lot better about that after meeting Maureen. It was more of a roller coaster drop when he thought about it, than a zero-G freefall kind of stomach churner. Maureen was lovely, friendly and well-read, all her father's sense of responsibility without the weight he carried.

His phone rang. He took a drink of water before reaching to pull it out of his pocket, smiling when he saw the ID. "Hey!"

"Hi Dad."

"How are you doing?" Once Elliot told his kids, Harry was going to be the last one in the dark. Toby had no plans to do anything about that.

"Good. Do you know if you're coming to my birthday, yet?"

"I'm sorry. I still haven't got clearance." Stalin had laid off, the last few weeks, but he hadn't been any more helpful. Toby was running out of hope. "If I don't make it, maybe you could fly out here the weekend after?"

"I have a big windsailing meet."

"We'll sort something out. I promise." He wanted to meet Harry's friends, have another weekend following Harry around the sights of San Diego. He missed the hell out of him.


	29. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 28, Loophole:  
> Elliot told Toby Maureen knew about them and wanted to meet him. Toby felt the need to sit down. Despite Toby's terror, dinner with Maureen went really well. Though it did remind Elliot of all the emotional mines lying in wait.  
> Toby woke to find Elliot cuddled around him, after he'd used his own key to get in in the wee hours. It was nice.  
> Elliot got called to a meeting with an FBI agent asking about Toby. He imagined all the worst possible things this Agent Pierce Taylor could want to discuss, and wibbled about whether to call Toby.  
> Meanwhile, Toby had a pleasant phone call with Harry.

Elliot had worked himself up to half an ulcer by the time he stepped out of the elevator. He should have called Toby. Unless he was blowing this up for nothing. Either way, Toby was going to be furious.

Munch wandered up. "Captain's looking for you."

"Yeah, I know." They headed into the pen just as Cragen stepped out of his office.

"Elliot, this is-"

"Fuck me." A suited man stepped up beside Cragen, looking exactly like an FBI agent, even if he didn't sound like one. But his eyes were wide, and he was staring like Elliot had just risen from the dead.

Cragen cut a glance at him, and finished, "Agent Pierce Taylor."

The agent stared some more, and then glanced to Cragen. "This is Elliot Stabler? How long have you worked with him?"

"I've been his captain for nine years. Why?"

Agent Taylor kept right on staring. "We're going to need a private room."

The knot in Elliot's gut tightened.

"Elliot can show you to an interrogation room."

"No," Taylor said firmly. "Private."

Cragen looked between them, obviously figuring out there was more going on than some professional courtesy. "Is there an issue here? If you're investigating-"

"No," Elliot cut in. "He wants to know about an old witness of ours."

Cragen didn't believe him, but he backed off. "You can have my office."

The agent nodded. "Thank you, Captain Cragen."

The captain's office was where Elliot went to get ripped, and rarely anything good. He was on a better footing in his own space. "An interrogation room will be fine." Cragen would keep the area clear. Elliot was going to find out what the hell was going on, and then he was going to start pulling whatever strings he had to protect Toby. Elliot led the way, pulling on the shell that had taken him through more interrogations than he could remember. He checked the view and the sound to the ante-room were off, made sure the door between them was ajar so no one could sneak in to eavesdrop, and was about to slide into a chair when Taylor asked, "Are you fucking him?"

Elliot's ass hit the seat. "Am I what?" There was roaring in his ears. An FBI agent just asked if he was fucking Toby. This was how he was going to be outed? By some spook in a suit? He wasn't ready for this. Maybe he was ready to tackle his family but not the NYPD, not for Munch and Finn's sly digs or sideways looks from the uniforms or to be the newest gossip around the DA's office.

And not for it all to come out over a mafia hit. He wouldn't have a job when this was done.

Taylor was still standing in the doorway, watching him, looking smug. "I have to admit, you're a twist I didn't see coming."

That was mutual. Weeks of idle thoughts of careful conversations in the distant future with Liv and Cragen were washed away under rising panic. Outed, just like that. By a Federal Agent investigating Toby on suspicion of murder. Panic was clawing at Elliot's mind, as he thought of all the ways he'd use that information in Taylor's place. A cop dating a man, a felon, maybe a murderer. So much for his shell; Elliot had cracked before he'd even sat down. Elliot was watching the fuse burn down on a disaster.

He forced himself to focus, remember the rules of interrogation. Taylor had the power as long as Elliot seemed afraid of what they both knew. But still, he almost choked as he asked, "You have a problem with two men fucking each other?"

"I guess that depends a lot on the situation. Your situation is interesting."

Screw playing games. It was time for fight mode. "You've got thirty seconds to convince me you have business here or I'm going to throw you out on your ass and contact my union rep."

Taylor slid a hand into his trouser pocket. He knew he had all the cards right now. "Beecher never mentioned me? I was the lead agent on his children's kidnap."

"Really?" They'd never talked about the police involved. This had to be about Hank. Toby might go back to prison.

"How's Holly doing?" Taylor was digging, trying to figure out how well Elliot knew him.

"Fine, so far as I know. Do I need to tell Beecher to get a lawyer?" 'Beecher' he'd called him, like they were just fuck-buddies.

Taylor finally came in and sat, dropping a file on the table. "Put your hackles down, Detective. I've never chased Beecher for anything more than obstruction of justice. I just want him to help me close a file on a fellow prisoner he's protected."

Elliot wasn't buying it. Not after the dance they'd done so far. He wished he could talk to Toby, get some idea what the hell this guy was after. He should have called him.

Taylor watched him quietly for a few minutes, unaffected by Elliot's glare. "Tell me: what do you know about Christopher Keller?"

The mysterious Chris. "I've heard of him."

"Him and Beecher were lovers in Oz."

"I've also heard he's dead."

"Have you heard we looked at him for the kidnap?"

Elliot hid his surprise, this time. "I heard you caught the guy who did it, and hosed the case." If this was about Hank, Elliot needed to know.

Genuine guilt flickered through Taylor's eyes. "Sometimes a case goes down. You must know that as well as anyone." He shook his head. "We had Hank Schillinger dead to rights shoving Holly out of the van, and some idiot in forensics screwed the paperwork."

Elliot did know how it went, but he was running short on charity right now. "Can we circle back to the point? I've got investigations underway."

"Certainly, Detective."

Taylor rifled through his file and tossed a photo across the desk. Elliot picked it up. It was a crime scene, a body lying in the woods. Caucasian male, naked, face down but maybe early twenties from the build. Bruises over his body from a severe beating. On his inner thighs - probably sodomised. On his throat - strangulation. "Bryce Tibbets, raped and killed May '98."

Another photo fell in front of him. A similar scene, strong correlation on the injuries; Elliot would have banked it was the same perp. "Mark Carachi, raped and killed March '98." And another, this time the body too decayed to read the evidence from a photo, but Elliot grasped the pattern. "Byam Lewis, raped and killed January '98." The guy who did this was aggressive, cold and methodical, and at first pass Elliot would class him as some kind of poster child for sociopathy.

Elliot was scanning the photos for clues, until the other chair creaked and he put all the pieces together.

"You think Christopher Keller did this." The guy Toby still longed for.

"I know he did."

"And you think Toby knew? You think Toby would protect a rapist?" After what happened to him? There was no fucking way. Elliot could buy Toby finding comfort with a guy who committed armed robbery, but not someone who did this. This was brutal.

"He knew." Taylor tapped the first photo. "I had Keller on death row for this one, but Beecher got it overturned. One of those technicalities, just like Hank Schillinger."

There was no way.

More photos floated across the table, from the same three scenes, from the autopsies. Rope burns on the men's wrists. Blood from rectal tearing. You could see the profile of the second man's face, eyes puffy from tears. Whoever did this had taken his time. Enjoyed the power.

Elliot dragged his eyes up. "Keller's dead."

"I still have two more sets of parents who want confirmation of who did this to their boys. You must understand that." Elliot did. "Besides - how many years have you been doing sex crimes, Detective? You want to tell me which of these you think was Keller's first rape and murder?"

None of them. Three scenes, this similar. These weren't the first.

If Toby got the conviction overturned, it was because Chris was innocent. Toby couldn't have believed Chris committed these murders. Elliot swallowed his urge to start defending Toby out loud. He wasn't going to give this guy anything until Toby had a chance to explain. There was an explanation for this.

Taylor stood and gathered up the photos, all but the first three, stuffing the rest back in his folder. "You can keep those. And one more." A mug shot was laid down, and Elliot stopped breathing. "That's Christopher Keller."

Three men, raped, tortured and murdered, but Elliot couldn't take his eyes off the mug shot. It wasn't just a likeness. It could have been him. These three men died in terror, staring at Elliot's face.

There could be ten different reasons why Toby didn't know or didn't believe this was Chris Keller's work. None of them explained the likeness. No wonder Toby had never wanted to talk about Chris. He was living out some twisted substitute fantasy.

Chris Keller stared out from his mug shot.

Elliot had fallen in love with him. He loved Toby. And this whole time Toby had just been fucking his dead serial killer boyfriend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Elliot?" Liv's gentle voice.

Elliot snatched up the mug shot and slid it into his breast pocket, but she was standing beside him before he could do anything about the crime scene photos. 

He heard her soft breath out, her disgust at the brutality, but she picked up the photo of Bryce Tibbets, the murder that had put Toby's lover on death row. The case Toby overturned. "Is the FBI giving us a case?"

"No." Elliot shuffled the photos together, wished Taylor had left him a folder to hide them in.

The case Toby overturned? Toby was disbarred. He was in real estate. That didn't make sense.

"Elliot?"

Chris died before Toby even got out, Elliot was sure. He died long before Elliot met Toby. This was bullshit. Taylor was feeding Elliot a line of shit.

That didn't explain the mug shot.

Elliot was numb. All over: his feet and his hands, in his chest. None of this made sense. Toby had lied to him. How many lies?

Elliot scooped up the pictures and headed for the door, snatched up an empty file folder as he passed his desk. He heard Cragen calling his name as he headed through the pen, but he kept going. There was nothing he'd say that would help his case if he stayed. He had to get out of here.

 

He had his key in the door of the car when someone grabbed him, he swung around with his fist raised to find Olivia with her hands up.

"Okay, Elliot, now I'm definitely not going to let you drive."

Elliot shook, let out a breath, dropped his fist. "Leave me the fuck alone, Liv."

She snatched the keys from the door. "You tell me where we're going, I'll drive."

Elliot slammed his hand against the car door. He had to get out of here.

"Anywhere you want. Do you want to go home? Do you want to go to Toby's?"

Elliot huffed. Yeah, he wanted Toby to tell him everything was all right, not to stress about whatever was bothering him.

Toby had been lying to him from the start.

"Has something happened to Toby? Elliot, will you damn-well talk to me?"

He couldn't drive. He didn't even know which way was up. "I want to go to Toby's."

"Okay." He could hear the relief in her voice. "Get in. I'll take you there."

He marched around the car and dropped into the passenger seat, the file of photos bending in his grip.

Olivia swung the car out, holding her tongue for the moment.

The traffic through Manhattan was creeping. Elliot's mind cycled around and around. What was he going to say when he got there? Where the hell did it start?

"Is this about Toby? Is he in trouble?"

Only with Elliot. Only for being a lying bastard, who'd played Elliot for a fool. This whole situation was insane. Elliot put his hand over his breast pocket, felt the heavy card of the mug shot, still there. He wanted to take it out and see if he was crazy, if maybe he'd just overreacted to a vague likeness, but he couldn't let Olivia see.

"You sure you don't want to talk, Elliot?"

She prodded him all the way to Toby's apartment, and double-parked across the street. Elliot stared up at the window. The drive had brought a sense of cold calm. There had to be some kind of explanation. It had to be some kind of massive misunderstanding. Maybe Taylor was a nut job and the mugshot was a photoshop deal. That was as sane as any other theory going.

Or how damaged had Toby been? Elliot's stomach clenched. In the wake of Vern's sadism, maybe he'd been ripe for picking by the next psychopath, pragged to a man who made him believe it was love? It wasn't like they'd never seen that before, victims who loved their captors. If Toby was that fucked up, could Elliot deal with it?

"I'm fine." He climbed out of the car, realised he'd almost left the photos behind and snatched up the file, managed to throw Olivia a thank you. He barely felt the steps under his feet as he made his way up the stairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby slid the health history form aside, signed the internet user agreement, and picked up the next sheet. 'Student personality evaluation.' They wanted to know about Holly's temperament, hobbies, issues. Putting his daughter into middle school took more paperwork than getting parole.

The sound of a key in the door caught his attention, and he smiled when it swung open. "Elliot! I didn't expect you tonight." He liked the surprise. He checked the clock as he crossed to greet him. "And you're early. You get time off for good behaviour?"

There was a strange light in Elliot's eyes. He threw out a "Hi," as he walked in, looking around instead of at Toby, took a step towards the dining table and then he caught Toby's arm and dragged him to the couch, sat beside him. 

"Is something wrong?"

A couple of aborted attempts to speak, ratcheting up Toby's worry until he asked, "Tell me about Chris."

Toby definitely didn't want to do that. "I've told you enough about him."

"You've hardly told me anything. I found out about the armed robbery from Holly."

"And I told you what happened. What does it matter? That was a whole other life."

Elliot wasn't letting go, and it made Toby nervous. What the hell brought this on? Elliot licked his lip, thinking. "He came after Vern, right?"

After Vern? There was no 'after Vern', only different battles in their long, fucked-up war. "Chris showed up about six months after I got out of Vern's pod."

"Did you love him?"

Toby had told him he did, more than once. "Why are you asking?"

Elliot took his hand. "I need to know if he hurt you, like Vern did. If you were his..."

Toby snatched back his hand. "His bitch?"

"I wasn't going to say-"

"But that's what you were going to mean. You want to know if Vern fucked me up so much I pragged myself to some other piece of shit."

Elliot just looked at him, waiting for an answer.

"No!" Toby forced his voice down. "Yes, Elliot, I loved him. Is that what you want to hear? What the fuck does it matter?"

"And did you ever care about me? Or have you been fucking him this whole time?" Elliot pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket and Toby knew what it was before that smirking face fell to the coffee table. He reached for it, unthinking, and then realised what this meant. A shudder went through Toby like the slam of a prison gate.

He picked up the photo. "I don't have any photos of him."

"You don't need them, do you? You have me."

Chris in the photo looked strange after all these months of staring at Elliot's face, blending memories. He looked wrong, jarring. Not like Elliot at all. Like a brother, maybe, not the clone Toby had imagined back in November.

It hit Toby: he'd just lost Elliot. This relationship was over. He'd been prepared for it. Since the start, he'd known there was an expiry date, but at some point he'd bought in. Let himself believe. "Please let me explain."

"Explain?" Elliot hissed. He stood and shoved a folder into Toby's hands. "How about you explain these?"

Toby didn't open it. If Elliot had his hands on Chris's mugshot, then Toby knew exactly what was inside here. He knew who it came from. This whole thing with Elliot was done. "The FBI never proved it was Chris."

"But you know he did them."

Toby had lied to Katherine and he'd lied to Taylor but now he was mute.

Elliot's hands were fists, the muscles in his arms hard with tension. Danger clung to him like a mist. Elliot was struggling not to grab Toby and hurt him, and oh the irony, that he'd never seemed so much like Chris as he did right now. Quietly, sharp as a knife, Elliot asked, "Do you get what I do, Toby?"

"I know. You catch rapists and killers."

He reached down to flip open the folder, exposing crime scene photos Toby hadn't seen in years. "I look the parents of children like this," he pointed to Bryce Tibbets, "and this," to Mark Carachi, "and this," to Byam Lewis, "in the eye, and I tell them I'm going to find the sick fuck who did it, and bring them some measure of peace."

Staring at the photos was easier than meeting Elliot's eyes. Toby knew Chris did these. It was one of the million shames he shied away from every day. Ronnie Barlog could have brought those parents that measure of peace, but Toby handed him to Chris, might as well have snapped his neck with his own hands. Elliot would never imagine that about Toby. Or never had before today. Toby wondered what would happen if right now he looked Elliot in the eye and told him what he did to Metzger. An officer of the law. First-degree murder: malice aforethought, bare hands, the darkest pleasure of his life. What would Elliot say if Toby told him he could still get hard at the memory of it?

What would Elliot say if Toby told him he traded Adam Guenzel to his own rapist just so he could see Chris on death row?

He'd walk away in disgust. Which was exactly what he was going to do tonight anyway. Toby looked up, started tallying the details: the ugly twist of Elliot's mouth, the broad shoulders, the throbbing energy as he paced the room. Toby was never going to see him again.

"Did you withhold information? Protect him?" He snatched up the photo of Tibbets, naked and bruised and dead. "Did you get down on your knees for the man who did this?"

"Yes. More times than I can count."

The photo was tossed back in Toby's lap and Elliot grabbed the mugshot as he moved away, putting space between them but his voice was still low, dangerous. "Knowing he raped those boys, you got down on your knees and had sex with him. Consensual sex."

Toby jumped to his feet and followed him, just a little threat to back him up, a little peek at Prisoner #97B412. "We did everything." Right in Elliot's face, his wiry body up against all Elliot's bulk. "I sucked his cock. We fucked each other up the ass and kissed and bled and held each other through the nightmares-"

"A real Harlequin romance."

"Elliot, I'm a killer and a terrible father and a disappointment of a son. You think you can make me feel bad about loving someone?"

"Loving someone?" Elliot pushed him back, snarling. "A serial killer. A serial rapist. What a massive disappointment I must be."

Toby held his ground. He'd had to swing a shiv to hurt Chris, had to fuck strangers. With Elliot it only took words, and Toby was a fucking black belt in words. "You certainly don't fuck like Chris, but you were good enough in a pinch."

Elliot roared and shoved Toby up against the wall, and if felt so fucking good, like Toby was alive. Like Chris was alive. 

"You remind me of him right now."

Toby almost laughed when Elliot's elbow lifted, until he heard a shriek. Too late to stop the crash across his face, the crack and flash of his head bouncing off the wall, a beat of confusion before the pain tore through.

Holly's small body hit him like another blow, locking around his waist as she wailed in fear. Toby grabbed her close and pulled her face to his neck to muffle her. "It's okay, honey, it's okay." It hurt to talk. His ears were ringing. Seconds passed before he thought to open his eyes.

Elliot was staring at them in disbelief, cradling his hand. Elliot had punched him.

What had Toby done? He reached a hand out. "Elliot, I'm sorry, please don't do anything stupid."

Elliot's gaze drifted down to Holly, and Toby's followed. Red was staining the shoulder of her yellow blouse. What had he done?

The door slammed. Elliot was gone.

Toby slid down the wall. It had been a long time since he'd taken a punch. And now he was sitting on the floor, face screaming, Holly crying. "It's okay Holly. It's okay." It wasn't okay. The look on Elliot's face...

Why had Toby done that? Because he wanted it. He'd wanted Elliot to lose control. And he'd won.

"Shhhhh. He's gone."

Holly tightened her grip, sobs choking down to hiccups and gasps.

Toby switched his grip on her and fumbled his phone out of his pocket and dug through his address book.

"Benson."

"Detec-" Christ, his face hurt. He was slurring. "Detective Benson, this is Tobias Beecher."

"Toby. Hi. Is something wrong?"

Everything. "It's Elliot. He's upset, and I'm worried he might do something." Toby should have taken his car keys; he shouldn't be driving in that state.

He could almost feel her stand up. "What happened?"

"Please find him and keep an eye on him tonight."

Toby hung up and thumbed his phone off before she could interrogate him. He tipped his head back and hissed as his lump hit the wall. If Elliot forgave him for everything else tonight, he was never going to forgive him for that call.

Who was he kidding? Elliot was never going to forgive him. Elliot was never going to forgive himself.

In the back of his mind, Toby could see Chris's self-satisfied smirk. 'You see, Toby? You think a fucking cop could ever love you like I did?'

Holly's hands pulled at his shirt, gently touched his face. Her face was splotchy and swollen from tears, but worse than that she looked terrified. "Dad, why did he do that?"

A sob fought its way up and he swallowed it down. "I did a terrible thing, Holly."

"That doesn't make it okay to hit you. Nobody should hit you."

"That's right." Toby pulled her close as he ran his tongue around his mouth. A couple of teeth loose, his whole jaw aching, lip split. Elliot packed one hell of a punch.

"You should go to the hospital."

"No, honey, I just need a hug. Ice and a hug."

She slid out of his arms and hurried to the kitchen. Toby struggled to his feet and was headed for the couch when he saw the photos, bloody corpses scattered over the floor, Chris's mug shot in the middle. He rushed to pick them up, but Holly was back as he picked up the last. "What's that?"

"Never mind." He slid them back in the folder, now covered in bloody fingerprints, and left them on the dining table as he collapsed on the couch with a wince.

Holly handed over a tea towel bulging with ice and climbed beside him, looking fearfully at the damage before he pressed the ice to his jaw. He grunted as the ache from the cold settled over the rest of it.

Holly rubbed a hand across her red eyes, and then her snotty nose.

Toby reached for the tissues, passed her the box. "Really Holly, I'm okay. I'm sorry we scared you."

She blew her nose. "You didn't scare me." Her breath hitched, voice trembling again. "He scared me. He hit you."

"Are you going to believe me if I tell you he's more upset about that than I am?" Probably more upset than Holly. Toby prayed Olivia could find him.

"Don't say that." She looked at the door, and then jumped up and ran over to throw the locks and put the hook on, scurried back to settle beside him with her knees drawn up, peering around the ice pack to see his face. "What was the terrible thing you did?"

Where to start? "I lied. I lied about a lot of things." And when he should have been apologising, he poured gasoline on what was left of Elliot's trust and lit a match.

"Why?"

This time the sob made it all the way up. "Because I wanted him to like me."

She matched his sob and curled up against him. "He did like you."

"Not anymore." He squeezed her, buried his nose in her hair to breathe her in, caught the sour edge of urine. She'd peed her pants. Toby was a piece of shit.

Holly held on tight. "It doesn't matter anymore. He hit you."


	30. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 29, Interrogation:  
> Elliot was ready to defend Toby if the FBI was chasing him for Hank Schillinger's murder. He wasn't ready for Agent Taylor to ask if they were fucking. Or to find out that Chris Keller might be a serial murder-rapist. And he definitely wasn't ready to find out he and Chris were doppelgangers. Elliot pretty thoroughly lost the interrogation battle.  
> Olivia insisted on driving Elliot, while Elliot's brain whirled with excuses for Toby's lies.  
> As soon as Toby saw Elliot had Chris's mugshot, he knew their relationship was destroyed. In typical Toby fashion, he took a terrible situation and made it explode. Holly arrived just in time to see Elliot punch Toby. 'Cos she was in need of another dose of trauma.

Elliot pulled his feet up a step, staring across the dim backyard. They should have got rid of the swing set years ago. It only got used when Kathy's sister's family came to visit, and they'd be outgrowing it soon.

His phone buzzed again, shaking against the step. He'd turned off the ring. Didn't know why he didn't turn it off altogether. Maybe he just needed to know someone still gave a damn.

Everything made sense when he lived here. If he'd been a better husband, he'd still be living here. With Kathy, where there were no secret histories, not much in the way of secrets at all. Marriage wasn't easy, but it made sense. You took care of your wife, you took care of your kids. You got the bills paid and tried to keep the kids from irreversible disasters.

In all the mess he'd made, he'd never once had to doubt that Kathy chose him.

The phone buzzed.

"Are you going to answer that, or let Olivia worry all night?"

Elliot tried to answer, but it stuck in his throat. He hadn't meant to bother her. He just wanted to sit here, try to remember what it felt like to have solid ground under you, to know who and what the hell you were.

The screen door opened behind him, Kathy's soft footsteps coming close, and then she was beside him, warm and familiar. He wished he could go back to this. Kathy. His family, all in one house. It was too late now. He'd burned his bridges in the divorce, and Toby stood like a wedge between then and now.

"She called me twenty minutes ago, looking for you. She sounded worried."

After a moment Kathy leaned forward, and got a good look at his face. Which looked pretty bad, judging by her expression. 

"Elliot, what's happened?"

"I'm sorry I fucked up our marriage."

There was barely a breath of laughter, and no humour in it. "Now you want to say that? Whatever's got to you tonight, it isn't our divorce."

The phone buzzed.

"Are you going to answer it?" When Elliot didn't move, Kathy leaned across him, god, the smell of her, of home and safety and certainty, all the best years of his life, and she picked up the phone. "Hi, Olivia. It's all right. I have him." She looked at him. "I don't know." A short pause."Can you clear him with Cragen tomorrow? I'm going to put him up here tonight. I don't think he'll make it in." Another pause. "I'll try. Thanks, Olivia."

She hung up and put the phone behind them, reached to squeeze his hand. He tensed and she drew it into the light instead with a whole new wave of concern. "Elliot? Did you hit a wall, or someone's face? Are you in trouble?"

He punched someone he loved. In front of his eleven year-old daughter. Because Toby looked at him and saw a pervert and a murderer.

Elliot put his head down on his knees. "When did I become a monster, Kathy?"

"You're not a monster. What the hell is going on in your head? Talk to me, El."

He had to fight to pull in his next breath, and Kathy wrapped an arm around his back, and Elliot wished he knew how to unwind time so he wouldn't wish Toby was the one here to hold him right now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot pushed, elbows shaking, lungs bursting until his shoulders locked, the barbell steady above him.

A moment to breathe and then down again, straining against gravity to keep it controlled.

He'd lost count long ago.

The clank of weights kept the quiet away. The concentration it took not to drop the weight on his neck kept his mind tied up.

Push. Up, up, muscles burning, palms sweating.

If he did this long enough, he might sleep tonight.

The doorbell rang, and Elliot swore, dropping the barbell onto its stand. He sat up, breathing hard, dazed. His tank top was soaked through. His hands were cramped.

The kids all assumed he was at work today. It had to be Olivia. But she would have called. Kathy was working. Toby wouldn't dare. Surely he wouldn't dare.

The pounding rush of blood in his veins throbbed even harder.

Fucking Toby. That fucking liar.

Through the peephole Elliot saw familiar light brown hair, his unwanted guest looking back toward the stairs. He hadn't thought he'd ever see Toby again, let alone on his doorstep two days later. He threw open the door. "You can't believe I want to-" Elliot caught sight of the dark bruise on Toby's jaw, the swollen lip, and stopped. He felt sick. That was his handiwork. "Is Holly all right?"

"She's okay. You should keep a safe distance. I told her it was my fault, but..."

"I shouldn't have hit you."

"I gave you plenty of reason."

"There's no reason. In front of your daughter, as if she hasn't seen enough violence in her life."

Toby finally backed down, not willing to argue that.

"I should have just left." He should have just walked away as soon as he saw that photo. "What the hell are you here for, Toby? We're through."

Toby dipped his head. Actual regret, or just playing contrition? How could Elliot tell? "I know. I just needed you to know... I wasn't... I was so busy torching whatever trust we had left, I forgot to tell you that you're nothing like him."

"Well, thanks for that, Toby."

Toby put a hand up as Elliot started to close the door. "You deserve an explanation." He looked around the dingy stairwell. "Can we not do this out here?"

Elliot didn't want Toby in his home. He didn't want Toby near him. Even now, staring right at the ugly grey swelling he'd left on Toby's mouth, Elliot could feel the rage tightening his spine. But he'd been sacked out on his couch for two days trying to make sense of it all and he was going crazy. He almost didn't care if Toby fed him another pile of lies, as long as it made sense.

So he left the door open and walked inside, backed up against the wall and folded his arms.

Toby hovered, looking awkward on his feet. "It was about Chris at first. It was uncanny. I saw you outside the club and it was like some storybook genie had granted me a wish."

Elliot shouldn't have invited him in. He didn't want to hear this. "Olivia was right. You were fixated on me back in the interviews."

"You looked so much like him." The longing in his tone turned Elliot's stomach. "You sounded like him. But underneath you were nothing alike. I kept trying to find him in you, the gestures, the mind; I was waiting for that little smile that let me in on the joke but... Chris was a selfish, arrogant sonofabitch. All he gave a damn about was protecting what was his and hurting anyone who got in his way."

"But you loved him."

Toby's voice rose, defensive. "You don't know. You can't imagine my life in there. After months of rape and humiliation he was the first person to show me any tenderness. Whatever he did before Oz, while he was in there he saved my life and he saved my kids."

"Do you have any idea what Chris Keller was capable of?"

"Of course I do," Toby snapped. "He did it to me."

There. That was what Elliot suspected. He took a step closer, unfolded his arms. "What did he do to you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"An explanation, Toby. Isn't that what you're here for?"

Toby moved further away, squeezed the back of a chair. "He broke my arms. He laughed while he broke my arms with his bare hands, and then he held me down while Vern broke my legs."

Elliot couldn't speak. Toby's mythical lover, that Elliot could never measure up to, broke Toby's bones? In league with his rapist?

"They were working together from the start. It was a big game: make Bitcher fall in love, and then break him. His whole seduction was a lie."

Elliot was paralysed. 

Toby came closer, to just a few steps away. "So if you think I don't know what I've done to you, if you think I don't know just what a piece of shit I am, you're wrong. I'm sorry, Elliot."

That was what Elliot wanted to hear, wasn't it? That Chris Keller was a monster, that Toby was another one of his victims, like those boys. Not responsible. But then what had he been looking for in Elliot? More abuse? "What did you do?"

"After two months in hospital? I caught him in a dark room and I stuffed a shank in him as deep as I could. Nearly punctured his lung."

Elliot couldn't imagine Toby shanking anyone. He couldn't imagine wanting to do anything less. He wished Toby had killed Chris.

"You can see why I'm not crying about you splitting my lip."

"You look at me and you see the lover who betrayed you."

Toby huffed, a bitter smile on his lips. "You don't understand. That was all before. First I shanked him. Then I forgave him. And then we became lovers."

He ran the timeline through his head, over and over. It didn't make sense. "You became lovers after he broke your arms? After you found out he was friends with your rapist?"

"I'll never ask you to understand."

He did. That fuck assaulted Toby and then took advantage. What the hell went on in that prison? The rage came bubbling back. "I've seen plenty of victims of abuse. I understand, all right."

"It wasn't like that."

"Oh, so it was a healthy relationship with a serial killer? That makes you what, his accomplice? You'd be better off saying you were his victim." Elliot stepped back, fighting the urge to shove him. There was no daughter this time to keep him in check and if he lost it he had no idea how he'd stop. "How could you protect a man like that from the FBI? How could you leave those parents waiting on news all these years, Toby? After what happened to your own son?"

"I loved him. He loved me."

Elliot's nails dug into his palms. "Animals like that don't love."

"You didn't know him."

"I know he raped and tortured and murdered three college boys. I've put dozens of animals just like him in prison, and I've seen how they manipulate people. Maybe he seduced you, Toby. Maybe he used you. He didn't love you."

"He confessed to ordering the hit on Hank Schillinger to save Holly's life. And mine. My whole family."

Elliot reeled at that. "Chris ordered the hit?"

Toby looked him straight in the eye. "No."

Elliot felt like he'd been punched. He'd suspected. He'd even condoned it. But now he knew Toby had committed first degree murder. Since he probably hadn't had thousands of dollars stuffed in his prison mattress, he must have made someone on the outside an accessory. His father, Elliot suspected. And Chris the psychopath had loved Toby enough to take the fall.

This was the explanation Elliot had been asking for. He was a stand-in for an abusive fuck, and Toby had probably been waiting for Elliot's fist from the very start. Maybe Toby had read him right, because even now Elliot was itching to put Toby into the wall, hurt him some more and ask him if he liked it.

It made Elliot want to crawl out of his skin, get as far away from the monster inside as he could.

"So the man that tortured your son was dead. And the man that tortured those boys was living happily ever after with you. You call that justice?"

That hit home. Toby curled in on himself. "Nothing in Oz had anything to do with justice. I never said Chris was a-"

"Why are you even here?" Elliot didn't want to hear another word about Chris Keller's good deeds.

Toby sat on a chair, uninvited. The chair where Lizzie sat, when the kids came for dinner. Elliot wanted to tell him not to touch it, not to touch anything in here. "I spent two months locked in plaster, imagining Chris and Vern laughing about stupid, gullible fucking Beecher, berating myself that I didn't see it, marinating in rage, and I don't want you to do that. I don't want you thinking this was a long con."

"Really, Toby? I should trust you on that?"

"I know. And I'm sorry." Toby looked up, blue eyes big and round and full of remorse that didn't put a dent in Elliot's anger. "I'm so fucking sorry. The truth is I was looking for him. I came to the courthouse, I called you to meet me because I wanted him alive and well and you were the closest thing I could find, and I kept being disappointed because you weren't even close to close. You were nothing like him, and at some point I didn't mind so much. At some point I realised I was relieved. I want you. I don't look at you and see him."

"Get the fuck out of my home." Elliot didn't believe it, and no way was Toby going to convince him. He went and opened the door.

Toby stayed right where he was. "I'm not asking you to forgive me for what I did. I came here today because I need you to believe that however it started, I care about you. You're not a fool. Don't blame yourself. I don't want that on my conscience."

Elliot sagged, a breathless laugh shaking his shoulders. He'd slept with this guy. He'd kissed him and confided secrets and curled up against him for comfort.

Toby stood up. "I know you probably think all this is bullshit, but I swear to you on Holly's life, every word I've said to you today is true." The pleading tone, the pleading eyes: it was unbelievable.

"You think I can forgive you, don't you?" Toby was actually holding out hope for it. That Elliot would forgive and forget like Toby forgave the psychopath that broke his bones and laughed about it.

"No." But Elliot could see he did. "I just know the poison running through your head right now. It's not going to get better until you forgive yourself."

"Really? You're going to be my counsellor now, you sick, serial killer-fucking scumbag?"

That hope dimmed. "I guess not."

"Get the hell out of my home before I have to throw you out." If Elliot put his hands on Toby, this was going to get ugly. Please, he wanted to tell him, please get the hell out.

Toby lowered his head, and, thank god, walked away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby told Holly he had a headache, pretended he didn't notice her eyes drifting to his swollen face as he excused himself for bed.

He'd made it home from Elliot's this afternoon without stopping at a bar or corner dealer, and that seemed impressive enough. He'd cooked a balanced dinner and managed half an hour helping her practise using a combination lock for middle school and he didn't have the energy for any more good parenting. Luckily Holly wasn't expecting much these days, just watching him carefully with her wide worried eyes.

She'd wet the bed again last night, but she'd snuck the sheets down to the laundry herself sometime in the early hours, so Toby let her have the secret. If it happened again, he'd deal with it.

Toby curled on the bed, still dressed.

He'd thought he was fine. Another hope down the toilet, such was his life. He'd only meant to try to mitigate the damage, tell Elliot not to blame himself, not to feel the rage Toby had felt when he was locked in the casts, sick with Chris's betrayal. He'd planned out pieces of speeches, all the things he'd wanted to hear from Chris.

It lasted until Elliot opened the door. In that instant Toby had wanted to throw himself on his knees and beg Elliot to forgive him, to forget what Chris was. Offer to let Elliot break his arms. 'Break every fucking bone in my body; I'm not going to tell the hacks nothing.' As if that was a path to redemption. Fucking Chris, believing bones were the break that had to be forgiven.

Fucking Chris, lurking in Toby's memories, in his body, still filling Toby and surrounding him. He'd thrown himself off that balcony and he was still demanding Toby's loyalty.

How had Toby protected Chris, after what happened to Gary? Knowing what those parents were going through? It was prison mentality. You protected your own. You made your own justice. It hadn't been Toby's business to help those parents any more than it had been his business to help Cyril O'Reilly or Franklin Winthrop.

There was no place for heroism in Oz, just survival. You and yours. Chris had been his.

Three and a half years dead, and Chris was still fucking Toby over, sabotaging Toby from ever moving on, from building a life without him. Toby looked to the ceiling, wondered if Chris was up there, waiting for Toby to catch up so they could storm heaven together. "Fuck you, Chris." He wanted to yell it, but Holly was in the next room and what did it matter, anyway? If Chris was listening, he'd hear this just fine. "Fuck you, Chris. I choose Elliot. I choose him."

Except what was the point, choosing Elliot now? Elliot was gone.

Would Elliot go back to his wife? He still loved Kathy, and he'd be happier if he repaired things with her, got his family back. Happier than he could ever be with Toby. One day he'd look back on Toby as some kind of experiment-gone-wrong. A mid-life crisis, a learning experience.

Holly knocked gently on his door, and he ignored her.

Toby's chest hurt, and his throat hurt, and he wanted to put the pain off. If Holly wasn't standing guard, he'd be digging his slutty little dress out of the drawer. Or maybe he'd be headed for the street, cash in hand. If O'Reilly was here, Toby would have begged on his knees for something to send him somewhere warm and fuzzy for a while.


	31. History repeating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 30, Monsters:  
> After punching Toby, Elliot went and sat on the back step of his family home, reeling. Kathy joined him, answered his phone to tell Olivia he was all right, and then tried to find out if that was true.  
> Elliot's anger surged when Toby turned up at his house to talk, but curiosity made him listen. Toby told Elliot about Chris's betrayal, to show he understood, but Elliot didn't find the tale especially comforting. He didn't find any of Toby's defence of Chris comforting. Or his reassurances that he wanted Elliot now. It was all Elliot could do not to punch Toby again.  
> Toby went home, closed his door on Holly, and marinated in self-pity.

Elliot arrived as the stretcher was loaded onto the ambulance, Olivia backing off to give the paramedics their space.

"How's he doing?"

"Some pretty serious groin trauma."

Elliot cringed.

"How was court this morning?"

"Fine. The case is going to ride on Diaz's testimony." He would have gladly taken a few more days of self pity, but since Novak had dragged him in to testify, it seemed he may as well get back to it.

Olivia took him for a quick walk through the crime scene, summed up the witnesses so far. Work first, personal waiting for the privacy of the car on the way to the hospital.

 

The moment Elliot started the car, the personal was fair game. Self-pity wasn't the only reason Elliot had been in hiding.

"So are you going to tell me what happened on Thursday?"

"No."

She'd called Kathy when she was looking for him, so she knew it wasn't about Kathy or the kids. She'd dropped him off at Toby's in a rage, knew he wasn't there later. She was a detective. She'd figured out as much as she needed to.

"You had a fight."

A fight. She said that like it was a temporary thing. "The whole thing was a mistake."

When he found the courage to look over, she had a sympathetic smile. "Welcome to the wonderful world of dating."

"You can keep it."

"He cared enough to call me to make sure you were all right."

Elliot's hands tightened on the wheel. "Toby called you?"

"To tell me he was worried about you, that I had to find you."

"That's all he said?" Elliot couldn't imagine why Toby might tell Olivia about Elliot's doppelganger, but he was relieved he hadn't anyway. "When did he call you?"

"I was almost home, so I guess it was about half an hour after I dropped you off."

Elliot would have been barely out the door. Toby must have still been bleeding when he called.

"He sounded more than worried."

He couldn't stand for Olivia to know how he'd been taken in. Seventeen years on the job, and he'd been conned by a known ex-con. How was he supposed to trust his own judgement?

Elliot had been cataloguing all the ways he'd peeled himself open for Toby: the confessions and admissions, all the sex. He'd put his mouth on Toby's cock and told Toby he liked it. He'd exposed parts of himself that Kathy had never touched in twenty years of marriage. What an idiot he must have seemed.

The worst of it was, even knowing it had all been bullshit, he missed Toby.

Elliot hadn't thought he could ever feel more lonely than those first weeks rattling around the empty house after Kathy left and took the kids. He wasn't good at living in an empty house. He didn't fill a bed by himself. He woke up last night and thought about calling Toby for company, until he remembered he wasn't ever going to talk to Toby again. Was that how Toby felt, after Chris broke his arms: half ready to forgive the unforgivable, if only it would bring back the illusion?

"Toby and I are done."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Agent Pierce Taylor sat back in his chair, gloating like the cunt he was. He thought the smug twist to his mouth was going to be what got to Toby? He obviously wasn't counting on the wash of memories his face brought. The terror that ripped Toby up for the two weeks Holly was missing, the devastation when Taylor stole away the only comfort Toby had by telling him Chris was to blame. The betrayal, when those incompetent fucks let Hank walk. He hadn't even had the guts to tell Toby himself.

Now the same man had taken Elliot from him. History fucking repeating.

"Tobias Beecher. I thought I might be seeing you soon." He didn't have anything to say about the yellow bruise on Toby's cheek.

Toby took a seat, not waiting for an invitation. "Why did you do it? Do you get a kick out of tearing up people's lives?"

"That wasn't my intent. Until I got a look at your new fuck-buddy, I just thought you were an informant."

"Because you had that cunt Starling ragging on me." Starling had been noticeably less interested after he ran into Elliot. Toby had been optimistic enough to believe it was because Elliot's badge protected him. He hadn't imagined Starling was on Taylor's speed dial.

Taylor leaned forward. "I don't want to talk about your right to privacy, Beecher. I want to talk about two families who want to know what happened to their sons. There's no reason to protect Keller anymore. I want to know if there are any other cases we can put to bed."

Was Agent Taylor like Elliot? Pushing for justice, not caring if he stepped on toes here and there if it brought home someone's lost children? Toby hadn't ever looked past his frustration when Taylor wouldn't listen about Schillinger, his fear when Taylor was gunning to put Chris on death row. But ever since Elliot showed up with the file of Chris's victims, Toby had been wondering what Elliot would do in the agent's place, and he wasn't sure he would be different.

"You think your son's funeral was hard, Beecher? Remember how it was, waiting for some kind of news on Holly."

Toby hadn't ever forgotten.

"Imagine being stuck waiting for seven years."

He'd been imagining it ever since he left Elliot's house. Toby pulled out the notebook he'd been working in, flipped it open to a random page of scribbled notes and arrows. "I've been awake the last few nights, remembering everything I can." It looked like his study notes from his undergrad days. "You have to realise, Chris lied as often as he told the truth. To me, too."

"Nice boyfriend."

Toby didn't give a damn what Taylor thought of that. "He never reeled off a list of names and dates. It was a detail here or there. A place, a, a bar..." A pair of oak trees by a stream. A covered bridge where he'd pulled his truck off the road to throw up, after the first time.

"There were other bars?"

Toby swallowed. "I think so." Other bars. Other victims. Two more college boys, at Toby's best guess. He wasn't going to talk about the ones they shared. Shemin, Browne, Barlog, Winthrop: what happened in Oz stayed in Oz.

Toby stayed for almost two hours, combing deeper through his private conversations with Chris than he had with anyone. With Agent Pierce Taylor. You like that, Chris? Toby thought. I'm peeling away your skin for the man who put you on death row. Chris had no answer to that. Toby wasn't sure any of it was enough that it could have got Chris convicted directly, but it tied him closer. It was the hazy details of the others that Taylor seized on: potential victims that had never been connected to Chris. His mind was quick, precise, making connections, prioritising information. This was what Toby imagined Elliot was like, on the trail of murderers and rapists.

Eventually Toby's notes ran dry, and he was little more than audience as Taylor shuffled through records on his computer, so he stood up. He felt exhausted right down to his bones, thin and unbalanced like those first days after his leg casts came off. He wanted to get out of here. "Is that what you needed?"

Taylor only glanced up, finger sliding along a road on a map of western Connecticut. "This is good. This helps."

"If you're done screwing around with my life, can you get Starling to stop holding up my paperwork to see my son in San Diego?"

He glanced up, thoughtful. It almost looked a little like kindness. "I'll see you can go, Beecher. Thank you." 

"Stabler's a good cop. Don't fuck him over."

"Good cops don't fuck skels."

"Read his jacket. He helps kids. Does a better job than you." The best proof that Taylor had a soul was the way he flinched when Toby reminded him how he'd failed Gary and Holly.

He hesitated. "How's your daughter?"

"She's well. She's doing really well, considering." Taylor didn't need to know she'd been wetting the bed again since she saw Elliot punch him.

"I'm glad."

Toby headed for the door, almost made it when Taylor spoke again. "Beecher. There's something I've always wondered. Just for curiosity's sake." He turned his pen in his fingers. "Do you have any idea why Keller confessed to ordering the hit on Hank Schillinger?"

Toby met his gaze. "No."

Taylor smiled, blank and official. "Thanks for your cooperation."

Toby pushed himself out of there, held himself together in the crush of suited agents in the elevator, out of the building into the fresh air. There was a park across the street, small and green between the cluster of grey federal buildings, and Toby claimed a bench gratefully.

He'd done it. He'd spilled all Chris's secrets across Agent Taylor's desk, violated all the hard-won trust, and now all he could see was the hurt in Chris's eyes when Toby told him Ronnie was giving him up.

If Chris was here now, would he leave Toby on the floor of some storage room, neck broken?

Toby waited, but Chris was silent.

All those late night confessions felt like last week. The quiet words they'd shared after the fucking was done. Toby had told Chris things he never would have dared to tell Genevieve and Chris had told him...

High and confused and terrified, and he'd realised there was blood on his pants and he'd barely pulled the truck over before he was falling out the door, puking his guts out as the first blush of pre-dawn painted the outlines of a covered bridge that looked like some kind of postcard.

Toby had held Chris and Chris had clutched him tight, fingers digging in like claws, had needed Toby. Toby had read between the lines, knew where that blood had come from, but all he'd wanted was to protect Chris, keep him safe from the memories.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You want a coffee, Detective Stabler?"

"I'm fine." Elliot didn't notice who asked. Kept his eyes on the photos he'd spread over the interrogation table. Collins was first. Thirteen years old. Red-haired and freckled, a little overweight, shy. His body was dumped in a culvert.

Munch had crawled through cabinets of property records and piles of LUDs in search of patterns. Finn had dredged through all the witnesses, dug up a few more to get a patchy description. Olivia was piecing together the victim's lives, reading diaries, talking to parents.

Elliot had laid out a spread of crime scene photos.

Their killer didn't bother to close the victim's eyes, didn't tidy their bodies. No contrition. Elliot shut out the information Olivia had brought, the little details that made these teenagers human.

A lot of blood in the first scene. Less in the next. In the last couple, an incision direct to the femoral artery, bleeding them into a contained puddle. He was getting neater. An attempt to contain forensics? 

Elliot put himself on the railway tracks of the last murder. Victim struggling. Shadows but not too dark. Backyards behind those fences. An overhead bridge within sight. This killer didn't seek attention but he wasn't hiding, either. He didn't care. He wasn't afraid of peeking neighbours. Wiped his prints but cops were an afterthought. He just liked neat. A neat puddle of blood, pleasure in that acquired skill that he felt in his cock. He liked to watch the blood run, arousal compounded by the victim struggling against him... he liked to hold the victim close, feel all that power as the flailing thing was tamed.

It wasn't the violence that got this guy off. There was no strangulation, no beating, no rape. None of the hallmarks of Chris Keller's profile. His mind recoiled, but too late. Elliot had been trying hard not to think of Keller while he stared at crime scenes. Usually he shoved every bit of his own family out of his head while he did this, shielded them even inside his own mind, but Chris Keller was here ever since Elliot saw that mugshot, and he dragged Toby after him.

Elliot didn't want to think of Toby, either.

The third victim was Feinman. His pants were found folded neatly in a trash can nearby, clean of blood. The age of the boys and the removed pants had landed this in SVU but there was no direct evidence of sexual assault. It wasn't the bare thighs that made this guy's heart pound. It wasn't the blood. It was power. His own mastery of death. Strong fading to weak. Clinging to him in spurious hope of mercy.

When they got this guy in a room, Huang was going to tell them that power was the key. If they wanted his trust, they'd admire him. If they wanted to rile him up, they'd question his precision, belittle his pathetic victims.

He liked them fat and slow, low self-esteem. Easy to seduce, too out of shape to fight back. Stupid fat kids, easy for a man with the power of life and death to feel superior to losers like that.

Elliot had Keller's mugshot in the jacket he'd slung over the chair. He knew how fucked up that was, but he couldn't throw it away. Elliot was finding it easier to climb inside the perverts' minds since he started carrying it with him.

His victims had been college boys. Young and strong and good-looking. Trophies for a man who could seduce and subdue them.

Elliot closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. He had to concentrate on the case in front of him. Olivia was already watching him strangely, wondering where his confidence had gone.

The condoms... a wrapper at every scene but never a condom. No sign of penetration but faint traces of lubricant on the victims' thighs. They'd assumed the killer couldn't perform but maybe he was just containing the mess. Their murderer rolled a condom on to masturbate as the life soaked away, or maybe he came at the pure thrill.

Neat freaks were easy to rattle. A little soda rubbed across the table to make it sticky, a lunch stain on your shirt. Olivia had pushed one guy over the edge by spilling a coffee over some fake files and not bothering to clean it up.

This killer liked his victims small and compliant. He wouldn't feel so powerful with Elliot in his face. Elliot would roll up his sleeves, show a little muscle, give this scumbag a taste of being manipulated and bullied, see how fast he crumbled with Elliot's forearm across his windpipe.

The thrill of violence lit Elliot up inside, one little twist to turn that ever-burning pilot light to fire. He wanted to hurt this bastard.

"Detective, you want a coffee?"

"I just told you I didn't!" Snapped back to reality, an empty room and a table covered in photos.

"Sir, that was four hours ago."

"The hell it was."

The officer backed out, and Elliot wanted to chase after him and tell him to stop being such a pansy-assed...

Elliot blinked and rubbed his face, checked his watch. One am. No wonder his eyes hurt.

Poison was still flowing through his brain, rolling in his stomach. The thread of the profile he'd been building was gone, but the oily mindset of a predator clung inside his brain.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I don't want to go."

Toby checked his watch. If they didn't get going soon, he was going to be late for work. He was already pushing it with all the time he'd had off lately. "You were the one who begged her to get tickets back in April, Hol. You can't pull out the morning of the show."

"Why don't you come with us?"

"Because Mother got your tickets in April, and they were sold out an hour later. You didn't visit her last weekend, you don't want to go tonight. Your grandmother's going to think you're mad at her."

"I'm not. I just don't want to go." Holly turned her chair and kicked her foot against the desk, pouting like the five year-old Toby hadn't known.

It made no sense. Holly loved musicals; she'd never turned down a show in her life. Toby went in and sat on her bed. He was definitely going to be late for work. "What's going on, Holly?"

"Nothing." She slid down to the floor and started digging through her bag, moving things around but not seeming to actually look for anything. She'd been wasting the last of her summer vacation, had turned down invitations from friends, had barely left the apartment for... for two weeks. Toby was a self-absorbed fool. "Is this because of Elliot?"

"No." A complete lie.

Toby should have dealt with this properly. Holly had regressed ever since she saw Elliot punch him, and it was hardly a surprise. "He's not coming back. He won't hurt me. He would never hurt you."

She hunched deeper.

"I should have told you that I went to see him afterwards. He was sorry. He was sorry he frightened you."

She flashed a glare. "I wasn't frightened."

"He won't be coming back." He had to fight for his next breath. He hadn't said that aloud in two weeks, and it hit him all over again, just how colossally he'd fucked up the best new thing he'd had since he walked out of Oz. He rubbed his face. He leaned on Holly hard enough; he wasn't going to cry in front of her.

"I don't want to leave you alone," Holly said softly. Her hands were curled around the edge of her bag.

"I'm safe. Elliot won't be back."

"I don't want you to drink."

Jesus. He wasn't going to cry in front of Holly. He took a slow, careful breath in, controlled it on its way out. He wished he could tell her there was no chance, no way he'd ever do that again. That he hadn't lingered way too long in front of the beer in the store yesterday. That he loved her more than he was a weak fuck-up.

The truth was he hadn't questioned her being home every night because he'd been using her as a crutch, to fill the gap Elliot left.

"Holly." He waited for her to turn to face him, sullen and apologetic all at the same time. "You're going to the show, and you'll stay the night with Gran. In return I promise you, I won't drink tonight."

"I don't want to-"

"You can't babysit me forever. You have to let me earn your trust." He could see her teetering. "You can call to check on me at intermission."

She rolled it around for a long time before she finally said, "Okay."

Toby was going to be apologising to her for letting her down for one thing or another for the rest of her life. "Come on. You have five minutes to get your things packed to stay at Mother's tonight, and be out the door."

He left her to it and went out to hide in the kitchen, made a show of clearing the breakfast dishes as he counted his breaths. He owed Holly a hundred apologies for putting all this on her small shoulders, but he needed to keep his composure.

Holly appeared in the doorway, bag on her back. 

"You went to see him?"

He'd hoped she'd missed that. He stopped wiping the counter. "I needed to make sure he was all right."

Her look made it clear she didn't think that mattered. "He hit you." She emphasised every word, and especially the last.

"Holly... How about I make an appointment with Ling? It's been a while. Maybe we can talk about what happened with Elliot."

"Why? You said he wouldn't come back."

Toby had been rehearsing diplomatic ways to say this for days, hadn't found one yet. He squeezed out the washcloth and hung it over the tap. "Because you shouldn't feel you have to sneak out by yourself to wash your sheets."

Wide eyes, betrayed, and a flush crept up her neck.

Toby hated that he was adding to her humiliation. How did you explain to an eleven year-old that it was a miracle she wasn't a basket case? "You don't have to be embarrassed, honey. You have to know I understand."

She folded her arms tightly across her chest. "How? Do you wet the bed like a baby?"

"I drank. I did drugs." He whored himself out to strangers. "God help me, Holly, we're going to find you better coping strategies than mine." Holly nodded, eyes suddenly too bright, and Toby rubbed his face. Too much honesty? It was nothing she didn't already know. "Come here." He crossed to her even as he said it, and hugged her tight. "I love you."

"I love you, Dad."

Toby squeezed his eyes shut. No matter what happened in the rest of his life, he wasn't going to fuck this up.


	32. Stranger in a dark alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 31, History repeating:  
> Elliot went back to work, and faced Olivia's curiosity. He told her the thing with Toby was over, and didn't bother with details.  
> Toby went to visit Agent Taylor, and spilled Chris's secrets, penance at last for years of silence.  
> Elliot was back to profiling child-killers, but now he had a new companion on his shoulder.  
> Meanwhile, Toby realised that Holly was using the last of her summer vacation to babysit her father, so he wouldn't drink.

Kathleen stood her ground on the stairs. "You can't just pass through this house and yell orders! You don't live here!"

"Didn't you learn a damned thing from being pulled drunk out of your car?"

"Why are you always bringing that up? I wasn't driving tonight!"

"You're still underage!"

"Everybody drinks, Dad! I'm almost seventeen, I'm not going to sit in my room and knit while everyone else my age is having a life!" Kathleen turned and stormed up towards her room.

"Elliot!"

Elliot stopped on the first step of the stairs, letting Kathy's sharp warning hold him back. His blood was rushing. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he had to say something, had to lock her in her damned room if that was what it took to keep her safe.

Kathy was close behind him, not quite touching. "How far do you think you're going to get with her in that state? Or you in your state?"

"Someone has to be the parent here."

Kathy didn't even flinch. "Don't play that game, Elliot."

"I can't fix another DUI, Kathy! Do you know what that cost me?"

"You're not going to fix anything tonight." Her even temper shamed him into quiet.

She waited until she saw she'd made her point, and then took a hold of his elbow. "Come on." Elliot needed to follow Kathleen upstairs, finish this, but Kathy was implacable. She pulled him until he followed towards the back door. She hated his temper, but she'd never been afraid of it.

"Outside?"

"Yes, outside." She went down the steps and kept going across the lawn.

"The swings?"

"Yes, the swings." She sat down on one, waited expectantly until he settled on the other. The porch light left the yard bright enough, though it was dim and private back here. They used to talk out here sometimes, back when they used to talk. Real conversations. "Are you ready to tell me what's been going on with you lately?"

"It's the same shit, Kathy. If we can't get Kathleen back under control-"

"I'm talking about you."

"Kathleen is-"

"You're not going to get through to Kathleen when you're this worked up and you know it. I thought you were dealing with your temper."

Elliot wanted to argue, but suddenly he was just too damned tired. He knew he'd been an unbearable prick lately, and Kathleen wasn't the only one who thought so. He turned to sit more comfortably, facing towards the house. "I met someone."

It was a moment before she answered. "I guessed." She sounded sad. All this, and he had to go and hurt Kathy, too. "I guess it didn't work out."

Elliot looked over, wanting to see her face as he said this. "It was a man."

She blinked. A lot of times. "Seriously, Elliot?"

When it all fell apart with Toby he'd been relieved that he hadn't told her, or anyone else. Relieved that Agent Taylor seemed to have disappeared, uninterested in telling the rest of the squad his secret. No need to worry about coming out of the closet now; he could go back to being manly, heterosexual Detective Stabler. Except how miserable was his life, that the bottom could fall out and nobody noticed?

Kathy had noticed.

"He was a witness I met on a case. We got to be friends and then... and then we were more than friends." Maureen had noticed, too, when she'd come bounding in, gleeful about having the secret, and he'd barked at her over some trivial stupid thing. He'd been a bad-tempered son of a bitch, lately, and it had to stop.

Kathy pushed herself back and forth on her toes, fingers tracing down the chain. "Here I thought twenty years of marriage meant we couldn't shock each other anymore."

"I thought being almost forty meant I knew who I was."

She chewed on that for a while. "Why did it end?"

"It turned out he was lying. About a lot of things. He didn't... I was just a substitute for someone else."

"And you got angry."

Elliot's jaw clamped tight.

She reached over, wrapping a hand around the swing's chain by his elbow to tip him towards her. "Why did you tell me you were a monster, Elliot?"

He'd said that? He didn't remember what he said that night on the steps. He couldn't tell her what he did. He couldn't tell anyone.

Elliot didn't want to be his father. He had to tell someone.

"I hit him."

A plane flew low, headed for La Guardia. Distant traffic rumbled. Silence from Kathy.

"It's no better than if I'd hit you, Kath. I hit him. In front of his eleven year-old daughter." Young Holly, who was probably never going to believe she was done seeing her father abused.

Kathy didn't try to comfort him. "Is he going to press charges?"

"He forgave me." He huffed, and looked up, watched the half-moon through the leaves. "I hit him, and he fucking forgave me."

Kathy was quiet for a long time. "You have to do something about your temper, Elliot. It's not enough to feel guilty, especially when you just twist that guilt up and turn it into more anger."

Elliot's cheeks were burning with shame. He knew this. He didn't want to hear it.

"Every cop's wife worries that her husband will be hurt in the line of duty, but I got used to that, nagging in the background. I was used to worrying you'd drive yourself into an early grave. Do you know what kept me awake at night the last few years?" She stopped, waiting. Elliot knew she wouldn't go on until he looked at her, so he forced himself to do it, to see the fear on her face. "I worried that you'd lose control with a suspect. I realised I was waiting for a call from Cragen to say you were up on charges. I was starting to believe you were never going to make it out of that hole you'd dug and that was the fear that killed our marriage."

She'd never put it so bluntly before. Or maybe he just hadn't been listening. "I went..." He didn't know why this was so hard to admit, to Kathy of all people. "I went to a counsellor when you left. She didn't help."

"So you find another one. And if that one doesn't help, try someone else. And if you want to give up, and our divorce wasn't enough, and your kids aren't enough, then you remember your friend's eleven year-old daughter, and go and find someone else."

Elliot pressed his cheek against the chain. "His name was Toby."

Elliot couldn't help wondering how Toby was doing. If he'd gone back to drinking. Elliot prayed he wouldn't do that to Holly on top of everything else.

He'd sat with his thumb on dial more than once, just wanting to know if Toby was keeping it together, but the temptation was always cured by the bile rising in the back of his throat when he thought about all the times he'd been intimate with Toby, slow kisses and fumbling touches; begging, needy words. Every time he'd laid himself bare Toby had been pretending he was someone else. Elliot had loved a phantom: he didn't know Toby at all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Another coffee?"

"Sure." The coffee was terrible. He'd noticed the stand across the street outside the station was a lot more popular, but he wasn't here for the barista. "Do you have any croissants? A muffin, something like that?"

"Blueberry or banana muffins."

"Blueberry, thanks." He wasn't hungry either, but he'd already been warming this seat for a couple of hours. He owed them something. He knew it was a waste of time being here, but today he had the time to waste. Holly had finally agreed to spend the day with a friend, was finally trusting Toby to survive unsupervised for an entire day, and this was how he was spending it.

At least he wasn't watching from the bar next door. He'd stood in that open door for a good five minutes, breathing in the stale stink of carpet soaked with beer like it was a roast turkey dinner, thinking as hard as he could of Holly, thinking of Holly, thinking of Holly, until he pushed himself past.

Elliot probably never used the fancy front entrance of the 16th Precinct. And if he did come out, what would Toby do? Feel even shittier about his life.

A couple of uniformed cops wandered in, and Toby ducked his head. He wondered if they knew Elliot.

He wanted to see him. He wanted to know he was all right. He hadn't figured out how he'd tell from across the street, if he even saw Elliot, but he didn't have a better plan.

He wasn't here to win Elliot back. He just needed to know Elliot was okay, had to hope what he'd left was more like bruises than broken bones.

He caught his breath as Olivia came out the entrance, pushing her sunglasses on as she held the door, talking back to whoever was-

Elliot. Toby drank him in. He looked great. The charcoal jacket, light grey shirt, dark tie. He stepped into the sun, sliding his shades on before Toby could judge if he looked tired. It had been just over two weeks since Elliot walked out. Maybe he was over Toby. Toby's whole body was leaning forward, like a couple of inches could make a difference.

"Blueberry muffin. You know, a lot of cops eat here."

Toby glanced up at the kid, unable to believe she was interrupting his first glimpse of Elliot. "Sure, thanks."

Elliot and Olivia reached the bottom of the steps, and Olivia led the way to the coffee stand. The discussion looked intense. They didn't agree but they weren't angry. Elliot was rubbing his forehead, frustrated.

The waitress was talking.

"Sorry?"

"I'm just saying, if you're stalking cops, some of my other customers won't be too happy with that." 

"I'm not." He was. It was exactly what he was doing, but there could have been a thousand other reasons to sit here staring at the police building for hours, as far as the waitress was concerned.

Elliot passed a cup to Olivia and dug change out of his pocket to pay. Toby watched as they wandered along the street across from the cafe. Elliot looked sexy as ever. Nobody filled out a suit like he did, and the sun lit him up, the glasses made him look like he didn't have a care in the world. Toby hoped that was true.

Liar. He hoped Elliot missed him.

The waitress was talking and Toby really didn't want to hear it, too busy watching Elliot's back as he turned the corner. Elliot was gone, and Toby was left with bad coffee and a prattling waitress. He looked down at his crumbled muffin. He couldn't remember if he ate any of it, but he pushed it aside and reached for his wallet. His phone rang and he picked it up straight away, glad for the excuse to blow her off. "Hello?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Toby froze. It was Elliot, sounding livid. He looked - there he was on the corner, two sizes bigger with fury. Feet planted wide, phone at his ear, eyes still hidden behind the dark glasses. The man that suspects saw. Sexy as hell, and twisted with hate. Toby did that.

"This is where I work, Toby. If you're hanging around as some kind of threat-"

"I'm not." That was the last thing Toby wanted. He was here to ruin his own day, not Elliot's. He just wanted to see him, know he was okay. He wasn't going to rush across and tell Elliot again how sorry he was. He wasn't going to tell Elliot he talked to the FBI, gave Taylor everything he had. Because then what? Elliot would pat him on the head and tell him all was forgiven?

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

Toby couldn't speak.

"For fuck's-"

"I just wanted to see you."

If Elliot's expression shifted, Toby couldn't tell from here. "I don't want to see you around here again."

"I'm sorry."

Elliot lowered his hand and snapped the phone shut. It clicked in Toby's ear, and was silent. 

I went to the FBI, Toby wanted to tell him. I told Taylor everything. I gave Chris up.

Elliot turned and strode around the corner, out of sight.

Toby laid down money for his check and a generous tip, and slunk out of the cafe. He made sure he left in the opposite direction.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot shoved his phone back in his pocket and forced a long, slow breath, concentrated on uncurling his fingers, one at a time.

He never would have known Toby was there, if Olivia hadn't told him. Had Toby been stalking him all this time? He'd doubled back and seen Toby in that cafe window and he'd almost been knocked off his feet by the sudden ache where Toby used to be. Suspended for a moment in the absence of air. He'd looked so sad.

Fury and fear had swept into the vacuum. What the fuck was Toby thinking, coming here? Elliot was struggling to stay focused already; if Toby dumped the wreckage of whatever the hell they'd been on the doorstep of the 16th, if Finn and the rest of them found out Elliot was just a dumb asshole cop taken in by a skel, Elliot was going to lose control of all of it. He wished Olivia would stop staring like he might explode at any moment. He hoped she wouldn't ask-

"Do you think he was here to make trouble?"

Of course he wasn't. Toby had been a massive asshole but he wouldn't intentionally out him to his colleagues.

Just like Toby wouldn't stab a man or love a brutal rapist or lie to Elliot to get him into bed? Elliot wanted to double-back, make sure Toby was leaving the cafe and getting his ass far out of Elliot's territory, but he didn't want to take the chance that Toby would approach him. Elliot still felt like a dirt bag for hitting him but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen again.

Olivia was still staring, waiting for an answer.

"I don't think so." He'd had plenty of time to expose Elliot, and he hadn't. And when he'd come to Elliot's home, he hadn't made any threats. He'd even seemed genuinely sorry that he'd used Elliot as a stand in for the scumbag he loved. Toby's pity didn't do a damn thing to ease the humiliation, but Elliot could hope it meant he wasn't planning to fuck up Elliot's life any further.

He couldn't deal with it right now. He couldn't think about Toby right now. He just had to make sure Toby was gone, and get back to work.

Elliot drained the last of his coffee and threw the cup in an overflowing trash can. "We need to get back up there, start making calls."

"Not until you talk to me."

She wasn't seriously going to do this now. Here on the street with Toby's hound-dog face still burning in his brain. Elliot just wanted to bury it, let it be another miserable fear his mind dredged up while he was trying to sleep tonight.

"What the hell happened with Toby?" She was. Fucking hell.

"Stay out of my personal life, Liv." Elliot stormed towards the corner.

"Just as soon as you get your personal life out of our job!"

He swung back. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Remember that part where we're supposed to back the victims? You all but called Lambros a liar this morning."

"She's changed her story three times since Saturday. I'm getting sick of chasing ghosts."

"She's scared, and it's not going to get better while you're barking at her. You've gone on the attack with every victim we've had since you split with Toby."

"That's bullshit."

"Kwoong, Paulson, Petrovich? Niccoletti almost did a runner when you were through with him."

Cragen had ripped him hard for that. Yeah, Elliot had been digging a little harder lately, but that was the job. You had to know who you were dealing with. "Lambros already admits she lied to her friends. I don't trust her." He didn't doubt she'd been attacked but there was more to the story, a history between her and the accused she wasn't sharing.

"You don't trust anyone, Elliot. You don't trust any of the victims. You don't trust Munch and Finn. You don't trust me anymore." There was hurt in her tone, and he cringed. He didn't have it in him to baby sit her right now. "You were starting to open up. Talk to me about things."

Yeah. At Toby's urging.

In those few seconds he had staring at Toby through the window of the cafe, there'd been no trace of Elliot's fist left on Toby's face, at least as far as Elliot could see from across the street. No sign of horns, or whatever Elliot had expected would make him look different to the man Elliot had been in love with two weeks ago. He'd tried to see him with a cop's eyes, tried to see the con, the killer, the lawyer who got a monster off on a technicality. He'd only seen Toby. The guy who'd murmured happily when Elliot slid in beside him at three am, who'd leaned over him in the morning, smiled and kissed him and urged him back to sleep.

When Toby was watching him sleep, he'd been wishing that Elliot was Chris Keller. Elliot's fingers curled up again.

"What did he do to you, Elliot?"

He took every flaw Elliot disliked about himself and curdled it into hate. He showed Elliot the monster inside him. Elliot could barely look himself in the mirror since Taylor threw that photo in front of him.

He'd forced himself to see a counsellor yesterday. Found one in the phone book, drove thirty minutes west of his house, far from anyone he knew, and tried to talk to a thirty year-old kid with a wall of certificates that told Elliot she'd spent more of her life in school than on the street. He'd stumbled to explain, never got as far as Toby, let alone Chris Keller. He wasn't going back there.

Olivia's phone rang. Thank god. She shot him a dark look, like he'd made it happen. "Benson. ... All right. ... On our way." She hung up. "Nerita Lambros came back. She wants to talk."

And Elliot had to keep his mouth shut and not scare her off again.

They didn't speak in the elevator. Followed Munch's pointed look to the interview room where Nerita Lambros was waiting, huddled miserably on her chair. She'd tied her wild, curly hair into a braid that fell over her shoulder, and she twisted the end in her fingers, eyes glued to Elliot.

He left the nearest chair for Olivia, took the other seat. "Nerita, I owe you an apol-"

"You were right." She sniffed and scrubbed a tissue across her nose. "I didn't tell you everything. I'm sorry."

Olivia sat. "The more you tell us, the better we can help you."

"It's so embarrassing. I'm such an idiot." She looked at Elliot. "He wasn't stalking me. We were... I liked him."

"You were dating," Elliot suggested, gently.

"I don't know if that's what it was. We were hanging out. He was always flirting with me. Guys don't usually... I'm not that girl. Obviously. He was so nice. He made me feel pretty." She shrugged, as though that was something absurd, and Elliot wished he could tell her she was, but that wasn't something for an SVU detective to tell a victim. "The day I saw him in the park it wasn't... I told him I was going to be there. It was my idea. And when he came to my apartment on Friday... I invited him. He was such a good guy. I wanted..."

"You were planning to sleep with him."

She caught her breath, fighting back a sob, nodding hard. "Yes. I mean, no, not yet. It was just coffee, but maybe..." She looked up at Olivia. "I wish he'd just cornered me in a back alley. Then maybe I'd just be afraid of men jumping out at me, you know? Why did he have to make me like him? Why did he have to make me scared of every guy who smiles or holds a door? I don't trust myself. I thought I was so damned good at spotting the creeps."

Elliot dug his fingers into his thigh. "It's not your fault, Nerita. He manipulates people. Anyone could be taken in."

"You're going to tell me you've been taken in, Detective Stabler? You're a cop. You see through people for a living."

Elliot dragged his chair closer. "And I've still been fooled by people I trusted. I've berated myself for letting someone in. Kept myself up at night counting all the clues I was stupid enough to miss. Couldn't look my friends in the eye, in case they saw how eager I'd been to make a friend. What sort of cop am I, that I'd assume the best of someone?"

She looked him over. "You're not going to tell me you were raped."

"I wasn't. But I do understand why you wish it had been a stranger in a dark alley."

 

Nerita gave a new statement, and this time it rang true. She wouldn't be much of a witness in court after all the revisions, but these were the details they needed.

When she picked up her handbag, ready to go, he touched her shoulder. "It's okay not to trust anyone for a while, Nerita, but don't let him ruin the whole world for you. Most people are good."

"Do you trust people, Detective Stabler?"

"Not many. You don't want to be like me. I'm kind of a prick."

She startled herself with a chuckle, and wiped her eyes. "Nah, you're okay, Detective."

Olivia stood at his back as he watched Nerita go. She waited until the elevator doors closed before she spoke. "Elliot-"

"I was conned." He looked around, made sure no one else as close enough to hear. "He was lying from the start. About all of it."

"All of it?" She was trying to be kind but all he heard was doubt.

"Every word out of his mouth."

"It sounded like he was happy with you."

"Shows what a fool I was, doesn't it?"

She was trying and he was snapping, and that was one of those flaws Elliot couldn't stand. He dragged his tone back to something civil.

"Getting involved with a skel. Who could have guessed that would go wrong?"

"I'm sorry."

Elliot swallowed. "Yeah."

"Do you want to go for a drink tonight?"

Elliot took a long, deep breath, wondered if Olivia knew how much he depended on her. "Yeah."


	33. Milk crates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sooo... Back in post 1, I said this was fifty-ish chapters, because I hadn't figured out how the chapters would break up to the end. Now I've finally done that, and you may notice this has been officially set to 61 chapters. So 61 chapters it will be, unless I am hit with a sudden burst of enthusiasm to expand a sex scene by a couple of thousand words. (Not unheard of for me.)
> 
> Snippet of Rubaiyat pinched from http://classics.mit.edu/Khayyam/rubaiyat.html
> 
> Previously, in chapter 32, Stranger in a dark alley:  
> Elliot yelled at Kathleen for drinking, so Kathy pulled him out to the swings to chat. He finally told her about Toby and the disastrous break-up. She pushed him to get counselling.  
> Toby sat in the cafe across the street from the stationhouse, which wasn't exactly stalking. Elliot was displeased. Olivia was displeased with Elliot's shitty attitude, but a cooperative victim softened his grump.

It was a small service in a chapel with broad glass windows that looked out over the cemetery. Family, a few friends. Patrick Adamson's college friends were all closer to thirty than twenty, now. Some with wives, some with boyfriends. Toby had watched the reunions outside: some friends hadn't seen each other since Patrick's disappearance was fresh. A few were part of a group that dealt with violence against the queer community. He wondered if Adamson's disappearance had set them on that path.

There was a scattering of orange amongst the leaves up the drive, first sign of Fall.

He waited until everyone else was inside before sliding into a pew at the back. He felt a presence beside him, didn't need to glimpse the suit in the corner of his eye to know it was Agent Taylor.

Did Elliot go to the funerals of his cases?

Agent Taylor had come through; Toby had his clearance, and he and Holly were going to San Diego in a few weeks for Harry's birthday.

Patrick's sister read the eulogy. His freshman year boyfriend read a poem from Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. _For some we loved, the loveliest and the best, that from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest._ His mother wished her husband, Patrick's stepfather, could have lived another year to see this. She looked too old. There was a large framed photo of Patrick at the front, smiling and handsome, and Toby's imagination kept pasting it into the crime scene photos of Bryce Tibbets and Mark Carachi.

Chris deprived these people of their brother, friend, son, stained their lives with violence. Had he ever thought of them? It had taken just over a week for Toby's notes to lead the FBI to the remains in a state park near Cornwall, Connecticut. They got the ID from dental records and the healed fracture in his wrist from when he fell off his bike, age ten.

A couple of friends talked about high school band and college parties, and that twisted, selfish fuck that lurked deep in Toby's gut was envious. Wanted to tell them his Gary never got to high school, never got to make college memories. He never saw nine candles on his cake. They didn't know how good they had it.

His memories of Gary's funeral were fractured. Sharp pieces, incomplete. That tiny coffin, smaller than the spread of his arms. Marta explaining why they'd thought it best to leave Harry back in San Diego. When he gave his tribute to his son Toby hadn't wanted to talk about Gary visiting him in prison, so all the memories ground to a halt age five.

He hadn't cried then, but now his eyes burned and his throat ached and his jaw hurt.

Through the hymns at Gary's funeral, he'd been composing pieces of eulogy for Holly. He'd been sure she was already dead.

Someone played Sheryl Crow on the stereo and the crowd stood, started moving for the exit.

"You did a good thing, Beecher." That was all. Taylor shuffled along the pew and out of the church.

A good thing. Toby had grieved Gary, let go as much as a parent could, rebuilt his life with Holly and a piece of Harry. These people waited eight years for Patrick to be found. If Toby could wind back time, get these people their answers, their justice, back in 2000 when Taylor was first sniffing around...

He wouldn't. Even now, if Chris was still alive, he wouldn't have given him up. He loved him.

Toby tried to imagine explaining that to Elliot, and couldn't. Elliot couldn't understand falling that far, couldn't understand a sick, serial killer-fucking scumbag, and he was a better man for it. He was better off without Toby.

Toby wasn't going to get him back. Elliot wasn't a desperate, lonely man in prison, grasping for any hand that reached. He was a heterosexual cop with friends and pride, a family man who wouldn't let Chris Keller's leftovers near his kids. 

Toby wanted a drink, but he couldn't do that to Holly. He wanted drugs, but if the rabbit hole wasn't terrifying enough, the piss-test was next week. He didn't have Chris to make him feel strong or Elliot to make him feel human. Just a long night ahead of him, playing Patrick Adamson's last hours with Chris in a loop in his head, embellished with stories of college pranks and memories of Chris huddled against his chest, whispering about shaking and puking by a covered bridge, sky-high on pills and terrified of something he'd just done.

 

Toby skirted around the people chatting outside the chapel, avoiding catching anyone's eye. There were too many people near the exit so he doubled back to the restrooms, went and pissed to kill some time. He was at the urinal when someone else came in.

Adamson's freshman boyfriend, the one who'd read the poem.

Toby washed his hands. He felt like he should say something, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. 

The guy stepped up to the other sink. "It was a nice service."

"Yeah."

"A lot of people came. Pat would have liked that." He gave Toby a watery smile. "I don't remember you."

"I didn't know him that well." Toby prayed he wouldn't ask for details.

Toby took another look at him. Lean and good-looking and carrying off black shirt and pants with a bright pink tie as funeral attire as only a gay man could. Toby wondered if he could comfort him by sucking his cock.

A blow job from his lover's murderer's lover. Maybe not.

Toby wanted to tell him Chris Keller wasn't such a bad guy. Not if you knew him. He had his flaws but if you were willing to look past a few murders there was plenty to love as well.

This guy probably wouldn't understand any more than Elliot.

"Well, thanks for coming. It's good do see how many people cared about Pat." He smiled again, and left Toby alone.

Toby tried to remember the nearest package store he passed on the way here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby pressed his cheek against the cool tiles as hot water beat down his back. If he just stayed here, stayed until the water ran cold, until the apartment downstairs flooded, until the neighbours found him here and called the cops, would Elliot come? Maybe he'd see what a mess Toby was, and forgive him.

And then the state of New York would give him back his lost eight years, and Kathy Rockwell would rise from the grave, and Gary would come home, healthy and whole.

Toby grabbed the washcloth and gel and started scrubbing, turning his skin red, counting the bruises as he went. Finger marks on his hips and arms, a set of dents in his back where the toilet paper dispenser had bit in. The soap in his ass stung, so he worked a little more inside, wished he could scrub all the way up there.

Fucking used to take him out of his head. He'd hand his body over and some good samaritan would drag the pleasure out of him, sharpen the whole world down to the cock in his throat or his ass. Tonight he hadn't stopped hoping Elliot would slam his way into the bathrooms at Franco's to punch out his hook-up and drag Toby out of there, like an avenging angel of jealousy. But it seemed Elliot wasn't stalking Toby. He wasn't going to watch him through the glass, or sit beside him at lunch, or leave any of tonight's conquests bleeding to death in the laundry room.

When Elliot left, he stayed gone.

Toby opened his mouth to the hot spray, rinsed and spat down the drain. He'd brushed his teeth as soon as he'd kicked off his funeral suit and left it lying in a pile on the bathmat. He was going to brush them again as soon as he got out, try to get the taste of strangers' come out of his mouth.

But he hadn't had a drink. Something he could brag to Sister Pete about, the next time he called to tell her how well he was doing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Just Elliot's luck: Liv was stuck in court prep, which left Elliot tracking their perp with Finn. Finn was a good cop, but they'd never found a rapport. Something rubbed between them, and on their best days they were on guard, all the conversations a little too forced. Elliot hadn't had too many best days, lately.

He'd been cosying up to a suspect yesterday, almost had the woman-hating scumbag ready to brag a confession, and then he heard the slime coming out of his own mouth and suddenly he was wondering if Keller had talked to Toby this way in their cell, wondered if Toby would laugh in bed with this piece of shit, and he had to clear out of there. Cragen had followed him all the way outside to ask what the hell was wrong with him.

Elliot had to get his shit together. Toby couldn't help him, because Elliot wouldn't believe a word he said. Olivia couldn't help him, because Elliot couldn't tell her what had gone down. The second try at a therapist hadn't done him any good. Elliot didn't trust easily to start with, and shrinks were already on the back foot after all that shit with the Morris Commission. But Kathy had told him to keep looking until he found someone, so that's what he was going to do.

Finn knocked on the door, held up his badge when it cracked open the length of the chain. "Piotr Leskov? I'm Detective Tutuola, this is Detective Stabler. We'd like a word."

Leskov's face fell, but he quickly opened the door and stepped back. "Sorry about the mess."

"Love what you done with the place."

The place was a dump. Milk crate coffee table, milk crates stacked for shelves, couch probably scavenged from the kerb. The guy had gone down for five-to-ten when he was seventeen for aggravated assault, did six and was spat out of the system four months ago. It looked like he didn't have the first clue how to live like a grown man. He snatched up a wet towel from the floor, looked around and put it down again.

Finn took up the centre of the room, stance wide. "Hope you ain't been violating any conditions lately."

Leskov dipped his head. "No, sir."

"We're lookin' for Lida Tamarkin; you seen her?"

"No. No, I ain't allowed anywhere near her, conditions of my parole, you know? I'm keeping clean. Sir." He folded his arms across his body.

"So you say." Finn looked him up and down, getting a little closer than he needed to. "But word on the street is she's been seen around this neighbourhood. She's into some bad shit, and if we link her to you, you're gonna be back in Lardner before you can organise a yard sale for all this nice furniture you got here."

Elliot wanted to look away as Leskov shrank three inches. This kid hadn't been at the top of the food chain in Lardner.

"Seriously, Officer sir, I'm trying. I ain't touched even a cigarette."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Finn jeered. "Tell you what, how 'bout I give your PO a call, see if he wants to come over and toss this place?"

His eyes went wide. "No, no, you don't need to do that. You don't need to call him. I'm clean. I go to group every week. I got a job in a factory, and I take all the overtime they'll give me." He was tensed like a rabbit before a Rottweiler. If he was covering, it wasn't because he wanted to. "I swear, I'm clean." He was pathetic, and any cop or parole officer who wanted to roll on in and remind him how pathetic he was had free reign.

A few months ago, Elliot would have been glad of it.

Elliot took a couple of steps off to the side, so Leskov could face him without Finn looming in the way. "Mr Leskov, here's what I think. I think you're trying to keep your nose clean, but maybe Tamarkin doesn't care so much about your restrictions." His eyes flickered. Bingo. "I know you were close once, but you spent six years in that hellhole paying for stupid shit the two of you did as kids, and all that time she's been running free. She's never paid for any of it, and she doesn't give a damn what you went through in there." Elliot could see him bending, softened his voice some more. "If you let her use you, you know she's going to drag you down, and you'll end up right back in your old cell. Or worse."

Leskov sat on a milk crate, defeated. "Please don't."

Elliot wondered if this quivering mess was the total sum of the man, or just one face, like Toby had given Stalin. Maybe Leskov liked to read, or cook. Probably not the latter, judging by the litter of take out containers and hot pocket sleeves. Maybe he'd tried to kill the man who abused him in prison. Maybe he'd tried to kill himself.

Elliot bobbed down in front of him. "Do you know what she's into? She's pimping kids. Ten and twelve year-olds."

Leskov blanched.

"She's raping kids, Piotr." He pressed the word, saw the flinch. "Living clean isn't just getting off the drugs. It means you have to make adult decisions. If you don't want to be a con, you have to stop thinking like one. Talk to us and we can help you."

He gnawed his thumb. All his nails were already chewed to the quick. "Cops don't help ex-cons."

Finn huffed. "C'mon, Elliot. We'll get what we need from the surveillance tapes. This hump can swing."

Elliot didn't take his eyes off Leskov. "I don't want to do it that way. If you're on the up, I will help you. You need her off the street as much as anyone. Work with us."

Leskov watched him for a long time. Elliot waited it out.

"Don't pretend you care what I've gone through, or that you want to help. You just want Tamarkin."

"You might be surprised what I care about. And right now we both want the same thing." Elliot had the thread now, wasn't going to lose it. "Look, I get it. You don't trust anybody. You've been fucked over by everyone, and being out, trying to live straight, is even harder than being inside. Your family's probably given up on you." He paused, took the lack of answer as agreement. "All your old friends want to drag you back to old temptations." He paused again. "I'll bet your PO's an asshole."

Leskov's head jerked up like he'd just been caught squealing, and he shook his head, hard. Elliot would poke into that later.

"If you don't trust someone, Lida's going to put you back inside. Trust me."

The guy looked ready to cry. "I didn't want to do it."

"Tell us your story, Piotr. I'll do what I can for you."

Leskov gave in. He didn't seem to know anything about the kids, but Tamarkin had been using his place for cash drop-offs, not much caring if he wanted in or not. Once he started talking it all spilled out, more than they needed. He still had the two hundred she'd paid him stashed in the bottom of a cereal box, untouched. Elliot was sure Casey would give him immunity in exchange for cooperation. By the time they left, Elliot had a new best friend.

As they headed down the stairs, Finn kept stealing glances, until Elliot snapped, "Whatever it is, just say it."

"Didn't expect you to play Mr Sensitive."

"The kid was a mess. He didn't need us piling on."

"The kid was an addict and a skel. Never gonna change."

"He helped us out, didn't he?" Elliot shut his mouth. If he started lecturing Finn on why they should be nicer to skels, Finn would know something was up, and maybe hell would freeze over.

He wanted to call Toby. He was still mad as hell, and disgusted, and betrayed, but he wished there was a way to find out if Toby was okay without Toby knowing he gave a damn. He just needed to know that Toby was holding it together for Holly, staying sober and taking care of himself. He wanted to be sure Stalin wasn't bothering them now Elliot was out of the picture. He wanted Toby to tell him again that he hadn't been a complete rube, make him believe it. He wasn't looking to forgive Toby but the anger was wearing him out. Wondering how much he was like Chris Keller was wearing him out. He wanted to understand.

As they climbed into the car, Elliot slid the key in the ignition and sat back. "Finn? Have you talked to your son lately?"

Finn looked at him, eyes narrow. "What's it to you?"

Elliot didn't know. Because Finn might have some magical insight into being gay through the son he barely spoke to? Stupid. Elliot started the car. "I was just wondering how he is. Making conversation."

"He's all right. I talked to him last week." After a moment, Finn asked, "How 'bout your lot?"

"Good. They're good." He pulled out into the traffic. He wished he knew if Toby was okay.


	34. Family values

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 33, Milk crates:  
> Toby went to the memorial service of a college boy Chris murdered. He couldn't help thinking of Gary's funeral. He found his way back to Franco's in his funeral suit, but it didn't hurt so good as it used to, and it didn't bring Elliot back.  
> Elliot and Finn questioned a recent parolee, and Elliot couldn't help seeing Toby. He hated that he still worried about him.

Toby's car raced over the finish line, and the screen pronounced his time a disgrace. He handed the Nintendo over to Harry and sat back, stretching. "You are champion of the car racing game."

"You take the corners too slow."

As a flaw, Toby was willing to live with it. This pixellated track was the closest he'd been to sitting behind the wheel since Kathy Rockwell, and it had taken most of the last hour to relax and let himself enjoy playing with Harry.

Three days in, and the visit was going well. Holly and Harry were avoiding each other, and that was fine with Toby. Peaceful cohabitation was enough for now. He squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Sitting on this floor is killing me. I'm going to go downstairs and stretch my legs."

"Okay." Harry booted up another game, and Toby squashed the urge to persuade him to come down. They had a whole week. There was no need to crowd him.

Toby rubbed his back as he stood. He was getting too old for sitting on bedroom floors, but it was one petty advantage he had over Jonah. That and his willingness to play Nintendo. The game wasn't much but connecting with Harry, letting Harry make fun of his gaming skills, was wonderful.

This week was what he needed. Far from New York, from clubs of anonymous men, from other temptations. He didn't know where you went to get fucked or fucked up in this city. It probably wouldn't be hard to find out, but Toby hadn't sunk quite low enough to be climbing out his window at night. The spectre of Jonah and Marta learning just what a loser Toby was, was the most sobering cure for lust he could imagine.

He'd been doing better since Adamson's funeral. Since the day after the funeral, anyway. He'd made his choice. He was going to live like a father, not a con.

Here in San Diego he was too busy even to miss Elliot - much - nothing to focus on but the two most important people in his life. And then wish he could call Elliot to talk about them. Toby wanted to tell Elliot how good Harry was on a windsail, how terrible Toby was. Harry had tried to teach him, and ended up sitting on his ass on the beach, laughing. Holly had nothing but formal manners for this whole side of the family, but she'd discovered Jonah and Marta's library, and spent every moment she wasn't with Toby out on the deck, reading. He'd found her crying through Steinbeck, yesterday.

He headed down the stairs to the kitchen, stopping when he heard raised voices out on the deck: Holly and her grandfather. He stepped out in time to see Holly standing over Jonah, yelling, "You're an idiot!"

Toby's stomach plummeted. "Holly!" Neither of them even noticed him.

Jonah was glaring fire from under his bushy eyebrows. "You'll treat me with respect, young lady!"

"You don't know anything!"

Toby's first instinct was to sneak back inside and pretend he hadn't heard them. He stood his ground because he'd vowed to live like a father, not a con. "What's going on?"

They finally looked up, Holly steaming, Jonah teetering somewhere between smug and disgusted. So much for Toby's protestations that Holly was an angel with anyone but her brother.

"Your eleven year-old daughter is schooling me on matters of military policy."

Toby stared disbelieving at Holly. She'd never expressed an opinion on the military in her life. Or anything political at all, for that matter. "I suspect your grandfather knows something about the military, Hol."

"Why are you taking his side?"

"It doesn't matter what the subject is, you don't call your grandfather an idiot."

Holly's eyes narrowed and she rounded on Jonah again. "What about a bad commander?"

"Holly!" Toby exclaimed.

There were sparks flying out of Jonah's eyes.

"You must be a really bad commander if your sailors are scared of gay people."

Jonah was on his feet. "Holly Beecher, you will not stand in this house and disrespect the men and women who fight to protect your freedom!"

Oh, god. That was what Toby had walked into the middle of.

Holly sneered, undaunted. "What about the gay men and women who are fighting to protect your freedom?"

Toby flashed on the memory of Elliot kissing him and telling him if he knew how much Holly wanted to protect him, he'd keep weapons out of her hands. He wished Elliot could see this.

Jonah was turning red. "I have a little girl telling me about unit cohesion."

Toby stepped up and hugged Holly to his side. "You're talking to a young woman, who, when she was a little girl, survived something worse than most of your sailors will ever face. Do you think she gave a damn if the agents who pulled her out of Hank Schillinger's arms were gay?"

Jonah's shame lasted until Holly's triumphant look turned his ears red again.

Toby jumped in before Jonah could shoot this conversation further to hell. "Holly, could you let me talk to your grandfather?" She didn't look like she was ready to leave him, so Toby kissed her forehead. "And believe me, we're still going to have a conversation about calling people idiots." That brought the frown back, and Holly marched back inside.

Jonah stood tall, puffing out his chest. Sometimes it intimidated Toby; right now it just reminded him of that blowhard Colonel Galson, the drunken rapist who shared his cell for three days.

Toby shifted the newspaper, still open on the headline that had presumably sparked the argument. He folded it closed and sat, waited for Jonah to take a seat beside him. You could see right across the bay from here, to the base full of ships that had been under Jonah's command until fifteen years ago.

"Toby, I know what Holly went through. I was waiting on news of my grandchildren, just like everyone else."

"I know."

"There are certainly allowances to be made, but you're not going to do her any favours in the long run if you use that terrible experience to excuse bad behaviour. She has plenty of reason to go off the rails. If you don't teach her self control now-"

"I wasn't excusing her behaviour; I was backing her point." Toby sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He'd never planned for this conversation, but now Holly had blundered in in his defence, and here they were. "Are you teaching my son that there's something wrong with being gay?"

Jonah's lip curled in distaste. "If men want to do unnatural things with each other, then they can go right ahead, but they can keep it out of the military and out of the family, and I'm not afraid to say it."

"Well, that's very brave of you."

"I can see where Holly gets her manners."

Toby bit his tongue. Maybe he was where Holly got her manners, but right now there was more at stake than abstracts. And however tempting, now was not the moment to shock Jonah with his own habits. This had to be about Harry. "What if Harry turns out to be gay, and you've spent his childhood filling him with self-loathing?"

Jonah's mouth flapped, shocked. "How can you say that about your own son?"

"He's nine years old. You don't know who he is. You don't know who his friends will be. You do know there are going to be gay kids in his school."

"You're saying you want me to teach Harry that it's perfectly fine for men to fuck each other up the ass?"

"Do you use that kind of language when you talk about straight relationships?"

Jonah narrowed his eyes. "If you don't like how I'm raising your son, Toby, maybe you shouldn't have drunk a bar dry and rammed down that little girl. I've been here for him for all the years that you weren't, raising him with the discipline you were sadly lacking. You really want to waltz in now and start nitpicking the values I teach him, while your daughter's barking insults at her grandfather?"

Toby fought the shame squeezing his throat. Jonah wasn't going to bully him, not over this. "Seeing my daughter throw an ad hominem at a man twice her size in the midst of a political argument doesn't bother me nearly as much as the idea of my son piling in to demean a terrified gay kid in his class."

"I don't like your implication."

"Jonah-"

"I don't hold with bullying. I'm teaching Harry to respect his country and his family, which is a damned sight more than you're teaching your daughter."

"Does teaching him to respect his family include telling him his father's a heroin addict?"

"I told you, he didn't get that from us!"

"He heard it somewhere." Toby hoped they would never be spiteful enough to do it intentionally, but he'd never be sure. "I had to sit down with my nine year-old son and explain my drug addiction."

Jonah looked away. "Hell."

The moment of sympathy calmed Toby's anger. "I know you don't think much of me, Jonah. Neither do I. But you have to believe I would do anything for my kids. The fact that I haven't tried to drag Harry home should prove that."

"It does."

"It's hard enough living a continent away from my son. Please don't sabotage our relationship."

Jonah pulled his chin back. "I'm sorry you believe we would do that." He actually looked hurt. "You're right, Toby. I don't think much of what you've done to your life or our family, but you have to believe we have Harry's best interests at heart as well. We would never make his family connections more difficult."

Toby wanted to believe him. "Not intentionally, but he's a smart kid. He can read a mood."

Jonah sat back, considering. "Perhaps we could both try harder."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot sat in his car outside the diner, reminding himself this was a terrible idea. This wasn't severing ties.

Elliot kept waiting to feel like the whole Toby disaster was behind him, and it wasn't happening. Four weeks now, three counsellors, and none of it had made a difference. He was almost at the point of asking Huang for a referral. Maybe he just wasn't the sort of guy who got over people. He still missed Kathy, and now he missed Toby, and when he was lying awake at night sometimes he imagined forgiving him. Sometimes he even wished he had Toby lying beside him.

Elliot hadn't made up some paper-thin excuse to call Toby and find out if he was taking care of himself for Holly's sake. He hadn't dug into Toby's file either. He'd promised Toby that he never would, and even now, if only to prove that he was the better man, he wasn't going to break his word. But he wasn't above exploiting a loophole. He had to, or he was going to drive himself crazy.

Elliot got out of the car, straightened his tie, and headed inside. His old friend Brian hadn't been especially useful with the description, but he'd said this was the CO to talk to if you wanted to know about that experimental wing in Oswald. Brian had worked Attica with him for years, and swore this guy was reliable. Reliable, but apparently average height, average weight, average Irish face.

That was him. Average on all counts, but Elliot would have picked the guy for a prison guard in a second. He was looking around, and then he saw Elliot, and his jaw fell. So yeah. That was him.

Elliot had braced himself for this. He hated showing his face to this guy, but he was willing to bet it would get a little extra information out of him.

Sean Murphy stood as Elliot approached, still staring. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if I hadn't seen Chris Keller dead on the ground with my own eyes, I'd be calling the cops right now."

"No need. I'm right here." Elliot showed his badge in case there was any doubt, and Murphy took a proper look.

"You his brother?"

"Pure coincidence." Elliot had checked hospital records for both of them, even gone back a generation. No dark family secrets as far as he could find. Thank god. He didn't know how he would have handled having Keller's blood running through his veins. He'd acquired a whole new sympathy for Olivia's obsession with her rapist father.

"Fuck me."

They sat and Elliot let Murphy look his fill, held up two fingers at the waitress's offer of coffee. The bold stare and shaking head made Elliot a little impressed by Toby's subtlety. Elliot had never known he was a freak until Taylor dropped his bomb.

Finally Murphy sat back. "I'm guessin' you ain't here to organise a softball league."

"I'm wondering if you remember a prisoner released last year-"

"You gotta be asking about Tobias Beecher."

"What makes you say that?"

Murphy blew out a little pfff, spread his hands. "Look at you."

Elliot shrugged. "Yeah. It's Beecher." The last name felt strange in his mouth.

"Is this an official investigation?"

"I just want some background. Off the record."

Murphy stayed cautious. It boded well that he seemed a little protective. "What do you wanna know?"

"Beecher and Chris Keller."

His lip curled up. "Of course you do. What'd you say you were investigating?" Murphy was no fool. They paused when the waitress brought their coffees, took a moment to take care of sugar and creamer, and then Murphy was on it again. "Look, I'm all for helping out an officer, but if ever I saw one lowly fuck in that place who deserved a second - well, third - chance, it was Beecher."

"Beecher's not... I'm not trying to stitch him up." Elliot shuffled through the last month for some pieces of the truth that would bring this guy onside. "An old enemy of Keller's has been making trouble for Beecher. Beecher's not helping himself."

It looked like Murphy believed that, and he seemed to decide he was going to trust Elliot. He sat back and took a long pull from his coffee. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you think it was some kind of Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Those two? Nah. When I came to Oz, Keller was trailing after Beecher like a dog beggin' for scraps. Beecher was still thumping around on his cane, hardly having a bar of him. Went on for months. In the end it was Beecher that asked for Keller to be moved into his pod."

Elliot sipped his coffee, added a little extra sugar. "This was all after Keller and Vern Schillinger broke his arms and legs?"

"Yep. Certifiable."

That was nothing like what Elliot imagined. Keller begging after Toby? Elliot tried another angle. "You came to Oz when Beecher was recovering? So you weren't around when he was being assaulted regularly by Schillinger?"

"Nah. Schillinger was off in Unit B when I transferred in. Him and Beecher spent plenty of time screwin' with each other, but if you're talking about Beecher's early days sharing a pod with that prick, that was long over. I'm guessing no one put an unwanted dick near Beecher after the Robson incident."

"There a lot of rape in your prison?"

Murphy's jaw tightened. "There's a lot of rape in prison. We only got so many eyes, Detective."

Putting Murphy on the defensive was a bad move. He put out his hands. "Story of my life. Tell me about Beecher and Keller."

Murphy shrugged, the offence already forgotten. "That pair, if they weren't fuckin', they were fightin', and if they weren't together, they were pinin', a regular Em City soap opera. I always figured one of 'em'd kill the other in the end, just thought it would be the other way around."

Elliot's mouth opened, and nothing came out. He ran Murphy's words back and forth in his mind. He had to have misunderstood. Finally he managed to shake his head, barely caught himself from saying 'Toby'. "Beecher killed Keller?"

Murphy hesitated, seeming surprised Elliot didn't have that titbit. Olivia had read Toby's file way back when he was a witness; she would have mentioned if there was a murder rap on there. "Beecher claimed it was a suicide, but Keller? That narcissistic fuck? No fuckin' way. They couldn't pin it on him, but Beecher did it. They fought, and Beecher threw Keller off a balcony in front of twenty witnesses. Lucky for him, the dinks never see nothin' unless there's a deal to make, and I guess none of the COs were ready to put Beecher on death row over a scumbag like Keller."

Toby murdered Chris. Elliot couldn't believe how completely he'd misread everything. Is that what he'd been talking about, with the terrible things he'd done? Not an accident like the girl he hit, not a father's fury over his murdered son, but a lover's quarrel and a murder with his own hands?

Every new piece changed the puzzle completely.

"Are you investigating this? I thought they gave up and closed the case."

"I don't give a damn about Keller. I'm just trying to get a read on Toby."

Murphy's eyes narrowed and he sat forward. "Has Beecher met you?"

Elliot looked up. He should have expected that question. "Yeah."

Murphy kept looking, a different kind of read now, and Elliot tried not to squirm. "Throwing Keller off that balcony... Can't say I blame the guy, but his face right after... I was the one who hauled Beecher off the rail, thought he was gonna dive right after him."

That sounded more like the longing that had been in Toby's voice when he talked about Chris. "What do you mean, you can't blame him?"

"Keller screwed Beecher's parole. Dumb dink finally got himself free, had a couple of weeks home with his kids, overturned Keller's death sentence, and then Keller set him up, got him yanked right back in."

Elliot slouched back. Toby had never told him that. This was the man Toby had been wishing for, instead of Elliot. God knew Elliot wasn't perfect, but he'd been competing with the ghost of a man who'd torn Toby's life to pieces, more than once. The ghost of a man Toby murdered.

Christ. A hit on the man who tortured and murdered your child was one thing. Throwing your lover off a balcony was something else. And what did that make Elliot? Redemption? A second chance? Or just the next victim?

"You want to know Tobias Beecher - so long as you're trying to help him - the person you want to talk to is Sister Peter Marie."

Elliot dragged his attention back to his companion. "A nun?"

"And the prison psychologist. Beecher was her assistant; they were pretty tight." Murphy shook his head. "Tell you what, Detective. I wouldn't mind seeing her face when she gets a load of you."

Elliot was starting to think he didn't want to know any more. Before Taylor's little bomb he'd pictured Chris as... well, not a good guy, but at least a redeemable one. A man who'd made bad choices too young and never crawled out of the hole, maybe, a fuck-up with a heart of gold, but every revelation was another piece of nightmare. He hadn't had any real idea how screwed up Toby was.


	35. Happy birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 34, Family values:  
> Toby finally got to San Diego. He enjoyed playing computer games with Harry, then wandered downstairs to find Holly and her grandfather locking horns over gays in the military. Toby told Holly not to call her grandfather an idiot, and told Jonah not to turn Harry into a homophobe.  
> Grasping for a way to understand Toby's love for Chris Keller, Elliot met up with Oz Officer Murphy. Murphy was taken aback by the resemblance. Once again, new revelations made it worse. Specifically, that Murphy wasn't willing to blame Stockholm, that Toby had got parole and broken it for Chris, and uh-oh, that Murphy said Toby murdered Keller. Even after all that, Elliot had been Toby's second choice.  
> Sadly, Elliot never thought to ask what Murphy meant by 'the Robson incident'.

Toby had learned his lesson from the last trip to San Diego. He was wearing a hat and his new Cabrillo Beach t-shirt, and everything else was slathered with sunscreen.

He lifted his hand to shade his eyes and peered over the beach for a headcount. Harry and three of his friends were playing in the surf under Marta's watchful eyes, his cousin Frances and one more wading back to the sand, the last four picking through the leftover party food. Holly was sitting under the same tree she'd been sitting under all day, swaddled in protest against the sun, reading her book.

This wasn't the birthday party he'd been hoping for.

He'd had some grand vision of getting to know Harry's friends this week, but he hadn't seen most of them until today, and they were too old to be playing games with the parents. Harry had barely spoken to him once his friends turned up, except to thank him politely for the birthday cake. Jonah had barely spoken to Toby since Toby backed Holly over gays in the military. Holly still thought he'd taken Jonah's side, and only talked to him when Harry was watching, and only then, Toby suspected, to prove Toby was hers.

The kids by the little tent sheltering the coolers of food were struggling to open a bottle of soda, so Toby stood up and headed over, practising names. Phillip and Ben from windsailing, Kenji and Anh from school. The one with Frances was a neighbour, Tabitha.

Toby arrived behind the girls, in time to hear one of the classmates say, "I thought his dad was dead."

"That's what Harry told me."

"Me too."

Toby froze, wishing there was somewhere to disappear before they saw him. A hole in the ground would have been perfect.

"He left when Harry was a baby."

"Tabitha!" Frances snapped.

"Well they know he's not dead, so they might as well know the truth. He left when Harry's mom died. He was no good so when she died the Admiral and Mrs Simmons took Harry in."

"What about his sister the witch? How come the Admiral and Mrs Simmons didn't keep her?"

"She told me that their dad-"

"Shut up, Tabitha!"

"She said it!"

"She's a liar!"

All the other kids were leaning in, eager to hear what Holly said about Harry, but Kenji looked up and gasped, and they all fell quiet.

Toby wished one of them would say something, because he couldn't. Harry told his friends he was dead. Better dead than in prison.

He reached out to take the bottle they'd been struggling with, and loosened the cap. Wordlessly he passed it back and walked away. 

Two steps back towards his chair, changed his mind, three steps towards Marta, no, so he headed for Holly's tree.

He would have given anything he could imagine, to be able to call Elliot right now and listen to him brush this off with funny stories of his own kids disowning him. Maybe if Toby called him with his Holly and Harry problems, Elliot wouldn't hang up. Toby was a sick, serial killer-fucking scumbag, but Elliot wouldn't turn away kids. He'd bet Elliot would still do anything for Holly.

Elliot would probably tell Toby to give up custody, and get the hell out of their lives.

Holly had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low and a towel draped over her shoulders, her long blonde hair tied back but a few loose curls were waving in the ocean breeze. 

He couldn't stand that Holly didn't acknowledge him when he sat beside her, so he asked, "How are you doing?"

She marked her place with a finger and gave him a sour look. "Can I go home, yet?"

"Hol..."

Harry told all his friends his dad was dead. Toby doubted Elliot had any amusing stories of his kids pretending that.

"Dad?"

"What did you tell your friends about where I was when you were growing up?"

Shame washed over her face. What did he expect?

"I'm sorry, Holly, it doesn't matter. You could tell them anything you wanted."

"Everyone at school knew you were in prison. But if someone else asked I said you lived in England. That's what Gary used to say."

"I don't mind that." It wasn't as though he wanted his kids to share his stigma. "What did you tell Tabitha?"

She froze, totally guilty. "Nothing."

Where was Elliot, the master child-interrogator when Toby needed him? Getting on with his life. "You told her something about why Harry doesn't live with us. I'd rather hear it from you than ask her." In fact, Toby would never, ever ask Tabitha.

Holly mumbled something, so Toby put a finger under her chin and lifted. She started again. "I told her we didn't want Harry because he was so ugly."

Toby took a long breath, and looked over the beach. Ten kids, all accounted for. "I wish the two of you could find a way to get along."

"I hate him."

"Don't say that, Holly." She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes, caring about as much for the power of those words as Toby would have when he was her age. "Family matters. I know you can't imagine it yet, but the two of you are going to be there for each other long after you've forgotten all the friends you have now. Your Uncle Angus and I weren't close when we were kids, but I don't know how I would have made it through my sentence without him keeping an eye out for you." Family was all Toby had left from his old life. The friends were long-gone.

"Harry isn't my family."

"Please, Hol. I've had time to try to make up all my mistakes with you. I love that we're so close. I want a chance to build a relationship like that with him."

"He has his own family. He likes them better anyway, so why do you need him?"

"Because it hurts. Because I love him, just like I love you."

"You shouldn't." She jumped to her feet. "He's horrible. He says horrible things. I'm nice and I take care of you and I never get in trouble or make you worry but you still love him more." She clutched her book to her chest and ran for Jonah and Marta's house, and Toby slumped back against the tree.

She had no idea how wrong she was. Loving her was easy, like breathing. Harry was a struggle, still that same protective devotion he'd felt for the newborn son in his arms, but mired in awkwardness and uncertainty. It didn't make it easier knowing Harry probably felt the same way about him.

 

Eventually the parents took their kids home, the party dissolved, and Toby and Marta and the staff packed up what was left, to carry back to the house. Harry was wired on sugar and attention, taking non-stop to Frances as he led the way. He'd told his friends Toby was dead.

Marta told everyone to pile everything on the front porch to sort later. Family presents, first. Toby was about to jump in, give his before Jonah and Marta made him an anti-climax, but with a grand flourish Marta told Harry to look out the back window, and it was too late.

Harry shrieked when he saw, and rushed out to the deck.

Toby followed the others outside to Harry's brand new windsail, watched Jonah extol all its specifications as Harry danced around, admiring it.

Toby had known this was coming - he and Jonah and Marta had talked out their gifts this time - but he still felt inadequate. Toby could have bought Harry a windsail. He certainly could have afforded it, if he'd known the first thing about buying them, if he'd known Harry was ready for the next size up, but he didn't know anything about windsailing. Besides, he'd never bought anything so extravagant for Holly.

When Harry eventually calmed down, Jonah turned him towards Toby. "Your father has something I think you'll like."

Toby led the way back inside and pulled his much-smaller gift from the shelf, holding his breath as Harry plonked on the living room floor and tore the rainbow of paper away. Harry was too young for this, but Toby hoped he would have the good manners to at least pretend he appreciated it.

Marta and Jonah stood back watching, and Gen's sister Rebecca was playing with Frances's hair. Toby noticed someone had herded Holly downstairs, and she was jammed in a corner, scowling.

Harry paused at the feminine, floral box, but lifted the lid and stared inside, silently.

Toby squirmed. This had been a stupid idea, but it was too late to change it now. He sat beside him. "All these things were your mother's." He lifted out the dusty old copies of 'Bridge to Terabithia' and 'Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry' and 'Trixie Belden'. "These were her favourite books when she was your age. She kept them, used to say she was going to read them with all of you, one day." 

This had been Elliot's idea, sort of. Back when he reminded Toby of what a mystery Gen must be to Harry.

Harry reached in and lifted out a pile of CDs, so Toby kept going. "That was her favourite music. She used to play that George Michael album over and over, until it drove me crazy." Toby had dug this stuff out of boxes in his mother's basement, and he'd put the CD on and the memories had rushed back. Genevieve eight months pregnant, dancing around the kitchen as she belted out 'Freedom 90', both of them laughing as she patted her huge belly and insisted that her son was going to know all the words to every song. It was hard to believe it was this same life.

Suddenly Harry was in Toby's lap, hugging him like he'd never hugged him before. Toby's breath rushed out like he'd been punched. He pulled Harry close, cupped a hand in his hair, closed his eyes. He'd got it right.

"That's a wonderful gift, Toby," said Marta. It was nice to hear but Toby had all the approval he wanted right here.

Harry's arms loosened and Toby made himself let go. Blinked a few times to get his composure, but Harry was glassy-eyed, as well. "Thanks, Dad."

"She loved you very much, Harry."

"No, she didn't."

It took a moment to pick up what Holly had said, and Toby and Harry both turned to stare at her. Holly was glassy-eyed too, and her mouth was trembling.

"That's a horrible thing to say," exclaimed Marta, at last.

Harry clutched George Michael close. "Shut up, Holly. She did!"

"That's just what adults say," snapped Holly. "When people are dead everyone pretends they were perfect. She didn't love you."

"Holly!" Toby, Marta and Jonah, all in one breath, but Holly ploughed on.

"She didn't want to read you those books! She dumped you at Aunty Bec's house while she locked herself in the garage and killed herself!"

Jonah rushed at Holly and Toby threw himself forward, catching his weight and shoving him back as Marta called Holly a nasty little girl. Jonah was red with rage, surging against Toby's fists and Harry was yelling that Holly was a liar as Holly yelled right back, everyone yelling so Toby yelled for Holly to go to her room. Holly screamed, "I hate her! If she loved us she wouldn't have killed herself!" and Harry was crying now, wailing, "Stop saying that! You're a liar!" and Holly snarled, "Don't you even know she killed herself?" and finally Toby turned and grabbed Holly and dragged her up the stairs himself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The flight out to San Diego had been Holly's first plane trip: constant chatter and bouncing in her huge business-class seat and big-eyed wonder at take-off and landing. The flight back to New York was her first flight while not speaking to Toby. Cold silence and staring out the window. She'd turned around and walked herself onto the security line without a farewell or thank you to anyone while Toby squeezed Harry goodbye under Jonah and Marta's chilly stare.

Harry was the only one not angry with Toby, though he hadn't stopped crying since his birthday was left in ruins.

Toby didn't know what to do with Holly. She was starting middle school tomorrow. She should have been excited or nervous, but all she was was angry with Toby. He was angry with her, and he hated it.

She didn't look back until the attendant came around to offer drinks, so as soon as she had her glass of orange juice on her tray, Toby seized the opportunity. "Can we talk?"

She shrugged, and stared out the window at the clear sky.

Toby searched for a place to start. He hadn't spoken a word to her until he knocked on the door this morning to tell her they were leaving in an hour. He'd spent the night comforting Harry. Trying to make suicide make sense to a ten year-old. 

Holly looked back over her shoulder. "Did you tell Pop you're gay?"

It made his breath catch, how casually Holly said it. Like it didn't matter to her one whit. This wasn't what he wanted to talk about first, but he'd take any opening she was willing to give him. "I think that conversation can wait a little longer."

"Are you embarrassed about being gay?"

"I'm not, no... Of course I..."' He fought the urge to check if half of business class was staring at him. "It's not like that. Your Nan and Pop and I disagree about a lot of things, but we have to get along. I have to choose my battles." He wished he had the luxury of calling Jonah an idiot and storming out. "I don't think you know how hard it is. Seeing someone else be the father I'm supposed to be. Negotiating with your Nan and Pop, trying to build something with Harry through phone calls and snatched weekends. You may not care about all that but I do. I know you were trying to protect me from Jonah, but it didn't help."

Her face twisted. "Do you lecture Harry about how he isn't helping?"

Well, no...

"Do you yell at Harry when he calls people names?"

Holly could be a hell of a lawyer. "I didn't take Pop's side that day, Hol. I backed everything you said; I just didn't call him an idiot."

She turned back to the window.

"Look at me."

She looked at him over her shoulder, after a long enough pause to prove it was because she chose to. "Harry says bad things about gay people."

Toby's stomach clenched. He'd been afraid of that. "He's nine. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I didn't say bad things about gay people when I was a kid. And he's ten, now."

"Then we'll teach him better." Toby leaned in. "I'm sorry I gave your mother's things away without asking-"

"I don't want them. I don't care about her stupid books."

That had been the kindest explanation Toby had for Holly's behaviour, the excuse he offered to Marta and Jonah. "What you did to Harry yesterday... That was cruel."

"I didn't know he didn't know," she pouted.

At least that was something. "Neither did I. But even if he had known, that's a hell of thing to throw in someone's face. You of all people-"

"Why shouldn't Harry know? Why does he get to be a baby? How come everything bad happens to me, and he gets to live in some stupid fantasy world and then I'm the one who has to be nice to him? You don't get mad at him for anything! Why shouldn't I be horrible too?" She choked up and turned her back on him, shaking.

"Hol-"

"Leave me alone."

Toby wanted to push but his throat was closing around the words. Everything she said was fair, except for the focus of her rage.

Elliot wasn't going to greet him at JFK, this time. He wasn't going to tell Toby he was doing fine as a father. Toby needed to hear it from someone, even if it was a lie. Elliot wasn't going to kiss him or smooth aloe over his sunburn or even notice he'd been gone. 

He'd lost Elliot and he was losing Holly and he'd never really had Harry in the first place. No matter how hard he tried, everything went to shit, and he was going to be alone in the end.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot stared at the clock. Almost three. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he was screwed.

He hadn't slept last night, and he hadn't slept the night before, so there was no chance he was going to sleep tonight, with today's counselling failure chasing around his head. Elliot was forcing himself into therapy because he wanted to do something about his temper and all the frustrations of his job, and she'd kept digging into his parents like some Freudian cliche, asking about his kids, pressing about his personal life since Kathy split, getting far too close to Toby. The cloud that hung around Elliot had been with him long before Toby came along. Toby wasn't to blame for what was wrong with Elliot any more than Kathy was.

There was plenty to blame on Toby: just not that.

He'd asked her about sleeping pills, but he knew pills weren't a good idea when your job called you out at any hour of the night. She'd told him to try other things, first. Meditation, no thanks. He knew what he needed for a good night's sleep. He needed to go home. To check the locks on all the doors and windows, peek in on his sleeping kids, and crawl in with Kathy. At least that was how it used to work in his fantasy memories.

These days he couldn't even jerk off to memories of Kathy. He'd tried to go back to fantasising about women, but he found himself still picturing the only male body he knew.

A murderer. How could he still get hard for that?

Elliot threw off the covers and padded out to the main room, looked back and forth between the kitchen and the TV. He wasn't hungry, didn't want to watch TV, but he was sick to death of lying in bed. He wanted to go outside but he didn't want to go anywhere, wanted to wake up Olivia but he didn't want to talk, wanted to sleep but he was wired.

He'd thought about contacting that psychologist-nun Murphy told him about, but he'd had enough of all that. He didn't need some prison-shrink playing head-games on top of it all. The only person who could tell him what was going on in Toby's mind was Toby. Maybe not even him.

He went to the front window and pushed it wide open, leaned out on his elbows and drank in the cool air, felt it slip over his bare shoulders. The street below was dark and quiet.

If Toby killed Elliot's twin, had Elliot been some kind of redemption for him? A do-over with a second-rate copy?

Chris Keller was a narcissist and a monster, and he'd pursued Toby for months for forgiveness.

Toby had had freedom, and he'd broken parole for his lover, gone back inside. No wonder Harry didn't trust that he was home for good.

Toby killed - murdered - Chris. He'd shoved him over a balcony with a surge of passion that he'd never felt for Elliot.

After all those months together, Toby was a stranger.

A stranger who cared for Elliot in the end.

Elliot couldn't stop picturing the look Murphy had described afterwards. He'd seen glimpses of that Toby, eaten by guilt and loss. He'd glimpsed it in the diner window three weeks back, seen it in his own apartment two weeks before that. He wished he could stop worrying about whether Toby still thought about throwing himself over that balcony as well.


	36. Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Aiee, so sorry about the slow updates - it's been a chaotic week. I am much more regular on livejournal, if I am letting you down here...)
> 
> Previously, in chapter 35, Happy birthday:  
> Harry's birthday wasn't the glorious bonding experience Toby was hoping for. It was just a ten year-old's party, in which he found out Harry had told his friends his dad was dead, and Holly had told them less-kind things about Harry.  
> Toby won the gift-giving competition with his box of Genevieve, but that victory was cut short when Holly told Harry that his mother didn't love him, and also btw she killed herself.  
> On the plane trip home, Holly was seething. Still angry about Toby siding with Jonah over gay politics. Angry about Toby chasing her shitty little brother for affection. Angry that she carries all the burdens, and Harry has everything so easy.  
> Elliot wasn't sleeping well. Murphy hadn't helped. Counselling hadn't helped. Toby still haunted him.

Toby stared into the fuzzy reflection of the stainless steel mirror and applied a fresh coat of Fired Up Red to his raw, chapped lips. Prag. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down. This didn't work like it used to. There used to be a high before the come-down, hours of hunting and fucking, pure physical satisfaction before the self-recrimination, but he couldn't grasp it tonight.

He needed more.

You want it to hurt, sweetpea, came a vicious Southern drawl, and Toby told it to shut up.

You need something to slip you out of this, and that voice was Ryan O'Reilly. Maybe more of a devil than Vern himself.

You want a drink, and that voice was Toby's own.

No drugs. No drinking.

You want that fucking pig, whispered Chris, and Toby told him to shut up, too. Of course he wanted Elliot, but Elliot didn't want him. 

A bunch of men piled laughing into the bathroom, and Toby put a hand on the sticky wall as he was jostled on his way out into the pounding blast of music. Roaring, deafening. He'd forgotten to slap a couple of band-aids on, and was getting unsteady in his stilettos as his toes blistered. His toes hurt. His ass burned. His back ached.

He'd fucked up his life all over again, and it would be so, so easy to let go of the last threads, just fuck it all, stop pretending he had any strength and let them take the last scraps of responsibility away.

Toby looked into the corner. The young guy in the skinny jeans and American flag bandanna was watching him. He'd been watching when Toby let the two black guys lead him into the bathroom, and now Toby was back out on the floor, and there was an invitation in his look. Toby had seen little plastic bags of pills and powders pass from those fingers to plenty of the crowd, and he'd kept far away. But this time...

He got a nod as he got close, and then the dealer was yelling in Toby's ear. "Hey, pretty lady. You wanna earn yourself a treat?"

Toby nodded. He didn't have to take the drugs. He just wanted to suck a cock.

He took a step back towards the bathroom but a finger hooked in the neck of his dress, as the other hand groped bulging jeans. "Where you going, lady? I got everything you want right here."

Here? No. Not a chance. He did his thing in bathrooms and back alleys. This might as well be on stage. He might as well be singing a torch song for Vern Schillinger.

The club music surged, and the dancing men all started leaping in time, a sea of sweating and groping, nobody watching the drug dealer and prag in the corner.

"I heard about your mouth, lady. Everybody knows what a sweet bitch you are."

Everybody?

Toby looked around. Maybe they did. And why the hell not? He was a bitch. He'd put on a dress and dragged himself here tonight to remember just what a bitch he was. Why the fuck was he being precious about it now? He dropped to his knees and unzipped the kid's overly-tight pants and went all the way down, pressed his lips to leave a bright red ring around the base of his cock.

"Watch this slut go."

Toby didn't know who the kid was talking to. He closed his eyes and fought off the urge to use his teeth.

He sucked and slurped and bobbed his head, and the shower of praise for his rote cocksucking job just made him despise the little prick. A lick and a suck and a twist, his own cock soft in his pants, and this was supposed to be a substitute for Chris? Or rubbing out the memory of Elliot? Serial blow jobs: just the kind of new start he'd promised the parole board.

"Yeah, baby, you suck like a bitch."

Toby almost gagged - rare for someone with his exquisitely-honed skills. He sat back on his heels, disgusted with himself. He didn't lift his eyes but he was surrounded by knees, an audience clustered around to watch him be a fucking bitch for a kid half his age in hipster pants.

"What the fuck?"

Toby spat on the floor, but it didn't get the taste out of his mouth. "I'm done."

"What? Get the fuck back and finish me off!" A hand reached for Toby's head and he knocked it away.

"I said I'm done." He started climbing to his feet and the kid shoved him and Toby went red. In a second he had the little shit pinned against the wall and he wanted to pound him but he just fisted his shirt and pressed a forearm against his throat, held the rage, let it pulse in his veins until the kid looked terrified. "I said I was done." The audience was hovering behind him, but Toby focused his laser gaze on the kid. He could kill him so easily. Toby's cock finally stirred. He could almost taste Metzger's blood, the sexual thrill of ultimate power. A little more pressure and it would be the last real decision Toby would ever have to make for himself.

A little shove and Toby stumbled away, overwhelmed by the thumping, roaring music, the flash of lights in the dim club making him dizzy, his pulse beating in his dick. He had to get out of here. He had to stop this. Get out of this whorehouse, get in a cab, go home.

Sit in his empty apartment, berate himself, miss Elliot.

He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to play the slut. He wanted someone to care about him. Someone who'd know his name, or at least give a shit about finding out.

He wanted a drink. Or five, or ten. Toby started pushing through the crowd, not headed for the bar but there it was ahead of him like an oasis in the desert. He could taste it, the smoky warm oblivion of a row of scotches. Wouldn't miss Elliot if he could just find that sweet spot of intoxication. Sometimes you had to hit bottom before you climbed back out, so maybe a night passed out in the gutter was exactly what he needed.

He darted into a gap and held up a fifty, mouthed "Scotch , neat," to the first bartender to catch his eye. A warm, smooth whiskey to take the edge off, just enough to soften all this fucking need. And then maybe a second, if that was what it took to make Elliot disappear. Maybe he could drink his way into forgetting that he'd been looking in the wrong direction from the start, that he was the one who was Chris incarnate, and it terrified him. Maybe he could drink until someone realised just how badly he'd fucked up his life, and pick him up and help him, and maybe it would be Elliot.

"Tobias!" Toby felt the arm before he heard his name, that beautiful solid body come to find him; he turned to find a wall of skulls and roses, followed the tattoos up to find Hector, who leaned down to shout in Toby's ear. "I haven't seen you in forever, Tobias, thought you went and left us."

Hector had tried to kiss him, once. Hector knew Toby's name. Toby stepped up and hooked two fingers in the front of Hector's jeans, shouted back, "I'm looking for a dance."

Hector grinned and drew him into the crowd, mouthing, "Come on then."

Toby left the fifty on the bar. He didn't know how to dance, but letting his hips follow Hector's as they were jammed in the crowd seemed to fit the bill. Beefy hands slid over Toby's shoulders, following his collar bones under the straps, then one skirted down his spine to find the hem of his dress, playing just a moment and then lifting, drawing it up until his fingers were caressing the back of Toby's thigh. Hector's eyes were on Toby's the whole time, crinkled in a teasing smile. He leaned close and shouted in Toby's ear, "You're one hot momma, Tobias. I always want to dance with you." He ground their hips in time with the bass. Thirty seconds of that and Toby tugged him down and kissed him. Hector gave it right back, sucking in Toby's tongue as he cupped Toby's ass to grind their cocks, lewd but not rough.

The kiss was all wrong: too much tongue, not enough lips, but Toby squeezed his eyes tighter, fought to put Elliot's hands under his dress. He wanted to be kissed and touched. He wanted gentle hands, wanted to hear his name. He wanted a good man who'd peeked into the mess of his life and seen someone worthwhile. He wanted a man who'd play board games with Holly and promise never, ever to hurt Toby, even if Toby wanted it.

Hector's fat hard-on pressed against Toby's erection so Toby leaned against Hector's broad chest, tried to ignore the unfamiliar scent, the pounding music, the crowd, but his imagination wasn't that good. He couldn't forget that Elliot would be disgusted that Toby was nuzzling another man, never mind the dress, never mind the ache in his ass from the two guys in the bathroom. If Elliot still cared at all, this would hurt him all over again.

Toby was one kind of a bitch or another, still the same worthless fuck-up he'd always been.

A gentle hand rested on the back of Toby's neck, and it was too much. He shook his head and pulled away, tunnelled through the crowd for the stairs up to the door. He heard his name as he stepped outside but he kept going, sucking in the cool night air, realising too late he'd left his coat inside and he was out on the street in full drag. He turned to go back in but Hector was there, looking worried. "Tobias, are you all right?"

"I'm sorry." Fuck the coat. Toby wasn't feeling the cold. He headed past the people lining up to go in, wobbling on the rough road in his high heels, could feel Hector close behind as he headed west, had to get out of here. If he could just get to the pier, away from all these people, away from the noise, breathe fresh air off the Hudson, he could clear his head. He had to be alone.

He was so busy dodging the traffic on Eleventh Avenue he almost hit the yellow tape before he realised he'd walked into some kind of police blockade. He couldn't help scanning the scene for a familiar profile, hoping and dreading. Maybe Toby could stumble over another cop who looked just like Elliot, and he could start this dance all over again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot tried to keep his eyes on the job, and away from the crowd of onlookers who'd stopped to gawk at the midnight show. He was buzzed from lack of sleep and the location wasn't helping. This kid was maybe sixteen or seventeen, glitter eyelashes and one pink glitter platform shoe, raped and thrown away by the river like trash. Warner was saying two perps, on first glance. "The dozen condoms in his pocket suggest the kid was a pro."

"Or maybe he just had high hopes for the night," Cragen replied. He headed over to talk to the lieutenant on the scene.

Just around the corner was the club where Toby used to go. Where men who did things like this used and hurt him. Elliot didn't like the possessive, caveman stirring that made him want to go back in time and drag Toby out of their hands. Though he had, in a way: Toby had gone from countless men who helped him re-live his rape to just one, who looked like the guy that broke his arms and his parole and then fell to his death at Toby's hands.

Eyes on the job. Elliot pulled his knitted cap lower as the chill wind off the Hudson bit into his neck. It was too damned early for Fall. The blood trailed along the railing by the water to the gate to the pier; the killer had probably hoped to dump him in the water, got interrupted before he could find his way through. He crouched by the gate to look for blood on the posts.

"Detective."

Elliot glanced at the two uniforms strolling up.

The older of the two jerked a fat thumb over his shoulder "My wet-behind-the-ears friend here found Cinderella's shoe in the gutter across the road. Corner of Washington."

"Must make me his fairy godmother," cracked the probationary officer.

Elliot locked his jaw.

The first cop laughed. "No, that makes you the lucky Prince Charming. We already got enough fairies around here." He waved an arm towards the crowd along the tape.

"Guess this one got its wings."

Elliot forced himself to stay down. "What did you say?"

The officer dipped his eyes, but the probie just puffed out his chest.

Elliot pointed towards the covered body. "That's somebody's son."

"Not one anybody's proud of."

Elliot was on his feet and two strides forward before he caught himself. He saw Olivia out the corner of his eye, ready to step between them, and that was enough. If Cragen was ever going to have one final reason to boot his ass, it wasn't going to be for brawling over the body of a battered kid. "Get the fuck out of here before I decide to get your badge number."

The pair of them stood their ground until Olivia stepped up beside him, silent back up, and then they finally shuffled off towards Washington, quietly sneering between themselves.

Olivia said, "If you'd shoved them in the river, I would have backed your play."

Elliot didn't want to banter. "It doesn't seem likely the perps carried the shoe all that way to dump it afterwards."

"If the attack started over there, there's a good chance we've got something on the traffic cameras."

Elliot walked towards the street, craning his head to look for cameras.

"Elliot."

"Oh, and we need to get that gate dusted for prints." He pointed without looking. 

"Elliot."

Olivia's hand clamping hard on his arm pulled him up. He looked down in surprise, followed her gaze to-

Toby.

Standing in the onlookers, half a head taller than the rest, staring straight back at Elliot. Their eyes held.

Held, held, and then Toby turned and Elliot was dodging police and forensics to reach the crowd, ducking under the tape and shoving his way through, around a prostitute and past a couple of tourists until he caught Toby's shoulders. Toby pulled but Elliot... and that was when he realised Toby was an inch taller than him in women's heels, wearing a red dress and clip-on earrings and his eyes were lined in black, lips stained from lipstick that had been worn off.

Toby was in drag.

God. Toby. Elliot wanted to touch his cheek. He wanted to shake him. He wanted to pull that wretched face against his shoulder and hold him tight. There was no way he'd murdered Chris. Toby couldn't have done it.

"Come on." Elliot ignored Toby's half-hearted resistance and pressed him back through the crowd towards the squad car. He opened the passenger door and sat him on the seat. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Toby wouldn't meet his gaze, even when Elliot bobbed down in front of him.

"Did you see anything?" Confusion flickered through Toby's eyes, and then he glanced towards the piece of waterfront the police had barricaded. "No. I just came out." He nodded further up the block in the direction of Franco's, where Elliot had looked over a dead vic the night before they met.

Blue and red lights from the squad cars flashed over Toby's face. Elliot could smell him under the sweaty, smoky stink of the club. He couldn't smell alcohol, thank god, and his pupils were only black enough for the dim light.

Elliot slid off his woollen cap, rubbed his hair, welcomed the cool air to clear his head. "Have you been drinking?"

A pause, just half a beat. "No."

"Drugs?"

"No."

Elliot felt like he was watching someone else question Toby. It couldn't be him because he was shaking, and there was no way he could keep his voice so calm right now. He curled his fingers in the soft wool of his cap, squeezing so hard his knuckles ached.

Elliot had worried about Toby drinking, doing drugs. He'd shied away from thinking of this, just as he always had.

This wasn't what Elliot had pictured, when he'd wondered about the dress. It was ill-fitting and ugly, Toby's broad shoulders absurd under the loose neckline. He didn't make a pretty woman, hadn't shaved his legs, didn't seem to be trying. Elliot had met transvestites who loved dressing up. Toby didn't. This was degradation, not feminisation. Toby was playing the prison bitch. Maybe it was worse he could do this sober.

_Sketch by Barbana_

Elliot had assumed he'd be repulsed to see Toby in a dress, but he wasn't. He barely saw it. He barely noticed the cosmetics. He was repulsed by Toby's discomfort when he shifted his ass on his seat, by the bruises that inched out before Toby tugged the hem of his dress lower on pale knees propped high by silver stilettos. He wanted to tell Toby none of it mattered, but the right words were choked back somewhere behind the burning rage that anyone could do this to Toby, Toby himself the worst of all.

Toby pushed at the hand Elliot had on his knee. "Someone will see."

"I don't give a damn."

"I fucking do." Toby knocked it away.

Elliot wanted to shake him until he rattled, but instead he gently reached up and unclipped the earrings. He dropped them in his coat pocket and then fished around until he found a wet wipe, Swiss army tool of the crime scene detective and father, and handed it over. "Clean up your face."

Toby scrunched the little packet in his fist, looking past Elliot's face to the scene behind him. "Olivia's watching."

"I'm not surprised." Elliot wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was making of this. Elliot didn't know himself. He just wanted Toby far away from this place, these men, putting his life back together instead of shredding it.

"Is that your captain beside her, staring at us?"

Elliot's head jerked around before he could catch himself. Olivia was one thing, but... Yes, Cragen was watching, with all the slack-jawed shock he'd restrained back when Elliot had given him Toby's phone number for the next-of-kin call. If Cragen and Olivia were staring like that, there was a reasonable chance someone was going to notice. And yes, in fact, Elliot did give a damn. He swept a look around, didn't see anyone else paying attention, but this wasn't the time for talking, anyway. It wasn't the time to ask Toby if he murdered Chris Keller. "I'm going to put you in a taxi and send you home. I don't know how late I'll be here, but when I'm done, I'm coming to see you."

"Don't."

The rejection stung. "It won't be for hours, yet."

Toby wrapped his arms around himself. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

Elliot put his hand back on Toby's knee. "I don't give a shit about the dress. We're going to talk."

He had until then to decide what he wanted to say. He still loved Toby. What they'd had was wrecked, but Elliot couldn't walk away while Toby was hurting himself.

Elliot felt his knees creak as he stood. "Take my coat." He slid it off and held it up, wishing he hadn't just dragged the tail of it through the wet gutter.

"I don't want it."

"You've got to be freezing." He was also standing in the middle of a crime scene in the middle of the meatpacking district in a short, ill-fitting dress.

"I'm not taking your coat."

"Fine." He shrugged it back on and curled a hand under Toby's arm and pulled him out of the car, struck again by how wrong it was for Toby to loom over him. Toby didn't have a chance of resisting while he balanced in those heels. Maybe the other cops would see an uncooperative witness, but Toby would know Elliot wasn't putting up with any arguments right now. He marched him to the road, dumped him in the back of a taxi, flashed his badge and his surly cop face and gave the driver Toby's address: no delays, no detours.

He saw Toby's reproachful face through the window, and it hit him hard in the gut just how much he wanted to kiss him before the taxi pulled away.

Elliot jammed his teeth together and stepped back to the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, art by the amazing Barbana, barbanaqoc@hotmail.com, who managed to make my pain-in-the-ass picture request work. What a tragedy that neither Toby nor Elliot realise how pretty he is like this. Maybe we should give him back to Hector.


	37. Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 36, Oblivion:  
> Toby was all dolled up and back at Franco's, engaging in all manner of unseemly sexual practices until he couldn't stand it anymore. He skipped drugs, dabbled in violence, bowed to alcohol and finally danced with someone who gave a shit about him, but that was worst of all. He bolted, and deja vu hit when he stumbled across crime scene tape.  
> Elliot was working the crime scene, and not-punching bigot cops. He saw Toby and chased him, dragged him to the squad car. He wasn't repulsed by the drag like he'd expected, mostly because he was busy being repulsed by the degradation. Olivia and Cragen stared. Elliot put Toby in a cab home.  
> Also, there was delicious barbana art.

The last time Elliot stood on Toby's landing this long, it had been the start. He'd been weak-kneed with fear of what Toby was going to expect and excited by how Toby made him feel and he'd no earthly idea where the whole thing was going to lead. He definitely wouldn't have guessed it would lead here.

He still had his key. He hadn't brought himself to take it off the ring. He let himself in, half-expecting Toby to be waiting on the other side, glaring, ready to tell Elliot to butt out of his life.

Toby was curled on the couch, asleep. He was still wearing that dress, and it was riding up his hairy thighs, exposing dark bruises that made Elliot's gut rebel. The make up was mostly gone, at least, except for the raccoon eyes. The wet wipe Elliot had given him was coloured and scrunched in a ball on the floor by his cell phone and glasses and those ludicrous shoes. How did it go this wrong?

The years had given Elliot plenty of practise in going through the motions, so he hung his coat inside the door, remembered he had his gun and he kept his jacket on. He sat on the coffee table and leaned in to sniff for alcohol, got the warm scent of Toby's sweat and then the stench of sex hit him and tumbled his stomach. His hands balled into fists. He took the time to uncurl his fingers, one at a time, and then touched Toby's shoulder, had to shake him before he stirred.

Toby's eyes were slow to open until he saw Elliot, and then surprise only lingered a moment before shame dragged them away. He glanced at the clock, squinted, reached down for his glasses and looked again. "Shouldn't you be solving that murder?" His voice was rusty. He pushed himself to sit up, and the dress rode up his thighs.

"Don't worry about that. I need to be here right now." Cragen had let him go as soon as they'd wrapped up the scene. He'd hauled Munch in to back Olivia for the interviews, and Elliot was going to owe them all three of them.

For a moment they sat just like that, staring at each other. 

Toby's hands covered Elliot's, and Elliot realised his own hands had found their way onto Toby's knees, just short of the hem of the dress. He had to force himself to pull away.

Toby's hands followed his, gripped his fingers. "What are you doing here, Elliot?"

He'd been asking himself the same question ever since he climbed in his car. He hadn't forgiven Toby. He didn't trust him. This wasn't going to be some happy-ever-after reunion. "I'm not here for that."

"Then what?"

"You think I just stopped caring about you?"

"Yes."

"I'm not the one who was pretending to be with someone else the whole time." Someone Toby murdered. Elliot had called Brian back, but Brian swore Sean Murphy was straight up, as reliable as a CO could be. Toby had already admitted to trying to kill Chris when he shanked him - and trying to kill Vern - so was it so hard to believe he succeeded once? Elliot looked at Toby, hunched against Elliot's harsh tone in his absurd dress, just enough make up left to accentuate the circles under his eyes, and even after years seeing everything people were capable of, he couldn't see Toby throwing Elliot's dark twin to his death.

"How are you doing?" Toby asked.

Elliot squashed the urge to laugh. It would have sounded harsh. "I'm doing just fine." Better than Toby, at least.

"I've been worried about you."

"Maybe you should be worrying about you."

"You look good." A weak smile.

"Don't." Elliot didn't understand how he could still feel the same things he used to feel, even after all the lies, even under the bitter rage that had clung ever since Taylor threw the photos across the desk. He hated Toby, and the hate was solid and real, but he still loved him. He still missed him.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you," Toby said.

"I know." He believed that much, at least. The despair in his face made Elliot's chest hurt. He believed Toby was as miserable as he was, and he needed it and he hated it. His ever-present anger faltered in the face of Toby's, a rage turned inwards until it was white-hot.

The man who got his life straight for his kids didn't deserve that. The man who smoothed over Elliot's seething temper like it was nothing and cared more about protecting Elliot's relationships at work than his own place in Elliot's life didn't deserve the prison he'd built for himself. Elliot missed him, and it hurt like hell.

Elliot leaned in and Toby met him halfway, sweet soft lips pulling at Elliot's, warm and needy and no kiss had ever felt this good. Toby's hands squeezed Elliot's thighs. Elliot cupped a hand behind Toby's head, poured five weeks of longing inside him and Toby drank it all. They could fix this. Elliot just had to forgive him, forget about Chris Keller, what he was, what he did... All the fucking lies...

Elliot pulled back, mouth aching, gut aching, fingers itching to pull Toby down, fuck it all. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Toby's face twisted as the hope Elliot just dumped on him was snatched away. "You still feel something."

"Yeah. I feel so fucking angry I can barely look at you."

"That's something."

Elliot stood up, put the coffee table between them. "What does it matter? How could I ever trust you again? How can I ever trust myself? My own fucking feelings?"

He needed Toby to summon up some magical words to excuse all the lies, to excuse protecting a serial rapist and killer, to make him believe Elliot had been something more than a shell to house Toby's dead pervert lover. That Toby hadn't murdered that pervert lover.

There were no magical words, and Toby couldn't fix any of it, so there was no point waiting for a miracle. He wasn't here for that, anyway. He didn't look as he ordered, "Go and get changed. Give me the dress, the make up. I want all of it. We're throwing it all out."

"So now you have a problem with transvestites?"

"No. I have a problem with you slowly killing yourself."

"That's not-"

Elliot leaned in, right in Toby's face and didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about it. "Are you going to tell me you do this to feel good? Tell me you dress up because you like it, because you feel sexy, and I'll give it all back, and good luck to you." Toby smelled like sex. Somebody else's sex. Elliot struggled to get a grip on himself. This couldn't be about him, or it was a waste of time. Now was time to be a cop, to remember how to do his job. Toby wouldn't look at him, so Elliot caught his shoulders, gentled his voice. "Did Vern do this to you?"

Toby tried to pull back. "Save me the nickel psychiatrist routine."

Elliot stayed close. "This isn't a nickel psych. I'm an SVU detective. I've had thirteen years watching victims continue their abusers' work." The flinch was controlled, but Elliot saw it. "Tell me the truth for once, Toby. You owe me that. The whole truth. Did Vern do this to you?"

Toby's eyes burned, and Elliot knew he was about to get a faceful of Toby's history. "Vern gave me to the gays for a makeover and then he signed me up for talent night, told me to get up on stage like this and sing. The whole fucking prison got to see what a docile little prag I was."

Elliot kept his face dead still, but it was probably the biggest effort of his life. The whole prison? What the fuck were the staff doing in that place?

"I got so fucked up on heroin, I didn't give a damn. I didn't give a damn when he made me leave a trail of lipstick all the way down his cock that night. Now I get to feel every drop of shame."

Bile seared its way up Elliot's throat, and he could barely swallow it back. "Why do you want to?"

Toby slumped. "It seems like it's better than drinking."

Elliot took a good few seconds to open his mouth. He wanted to yell, but he made himself sit back down on the coffee table. He had to be a cop. Had to treat Toby like an uncooperative victim. "You think so, Toby? You tell me, would you rather I sit Holly down and tell her you're in the drunk tank, or that you're lying dead in a puddle of piss in the meatpacking district?" He waited, but wasn't especially surprised that Toby had no answer to that. "Do you realise that Leo Markstrom could have been you, Toby? That man you had sex with in Franco's slit Markstrom's throat from ear to ear. Your prison lover raped and tortured three men to death." It was like talking to a wall. "Are you still seeing the counsellor?"

"Yes." After a moment, he admitted, "It's been a few weeks."

A lot of weeks, Elliot was willing to bet. "Have you told her about this?"

Toby didn't answer.

"You have to tell her about this. I want you to make an appointment tomorrow, and tell her about the clubs. You can make an appointment with a sexual health clinic while you're at it."

"I use condoms, I'm not stupid."

"When you have anal sex."

Toby actually blushed.

"You use them when you're doing oral?" Clinical words, like he'd use with Warner or a typed report. And silence from Toby. "You think no one ever got gonorrhoea or syphilis from oral, Toby? What, are you in eighth grade?" He leaned close. "Are you hoping you will? Too cowardly to take your own life, so you're hoping some disease or rapist scumbag will do it for you? So you won't have to do any of the hard stuff, like rebuild your life, or look Holly in the eye and deal with the damage you've done to her?" Toby's words from long ago, right back at him. "You think it's going to help Holly, to bury her father beside her brother and mother and grandfather? You let go like this and you're no better than Genevieve."

Toby had curled in on himself, which meant something was getting through. Elliot ignored the shame on his face and pulled him up to his feet. Let him stew on that. "Come on. You're going to shower." He shoved Toby into the bathroom and took himself to the bedroom. He didn't want to see if Toby was wearing lacy panties under that dress. He went through the drawers, pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. There were a few make up things on top of the drawers, so Elliot picked them up and then headed to the bathroom, scooping up the dress lying in the doorway. "Is there anything else? Do you have a whole wardrobe some-"

Toby was reaching into the shower to turn the taps and Elliot got a full view of his body, of the way his jaw tightened as he stretched. Elliot dumped everything on the counter and pulled Toby out, hands on his bare, bruised skin. "What the hell did they do to you?"

"It's nothing."

The skin on Toby's ass and up his sides was mottled with finger-marks, already turning blue in places. Bruises across the front of his thighs, probably where he'd been shoved against a counter. A fat blooming swelling on his back about the size of a fist. Elliot ran his fingers over the fingernail gouges on Toby's hips, felt the shiver but he couldn't pull his hands away. There was a smear of blood dried on Toby's buttock. Elliot had seen this on hundreds of strangers, never on someone he loved. He suddenly wished Liv was here, so she could say this instead of him. He choked out the words. "You can't shower. I have to take you to the hospital, get a kit done."

"It's superficial."

"Toby, it's-"

"I asked for it."

"Nobody asks for this, Toby."

Toby jerked away. "I'm sorry I don't fit in your Leave it to Beaver world, Elliot."

Elliot caught Toby's arms, held him still but didn't squeeze. He'd never, ever leave another mark on him. "Did you like it? Did you have a good time tonight?"

"I chose it."

"Did you like it?"

Toby glared as long as he could, but Elliot wasn't backing down. Toby shook his head.

"How happy would Vern Schillinger be, to know what you're doing to yourself?" Toby had no answer. "You didn't do this when you were with me." It was a question, even if Elliot didn't make it sound like one. If this had been going on while Elliot was obliviously-

"I was a fucking liar when I was with you. I told myself I wanted Chris and I didn't. I wanted you." Toby pressed a hand to Elliot's chest, tucking a thumb under his tie, and the simple touch was enough to lock Elliot's lungs. All Toby's anguish was in his eyes. "I miss you, Elliot. I don't want him. I want you."

"Don't." Elliot gently lifted the hand away and took a breath. He believed him. Maybe that made him a bigger idiot than any of the skels he dealt with, but he believed Toby wanted him now. Five months too late. "Please let me take you to a hospital."

"It's not going to happen."

"Even if you don't want to press charges-"

Toby's hand closed around Elliot's, and for a moment, Elliot couldn't feel anything else. "I wasn't raped. I did this to myself. I asked for it to hurt."

Elliot held on. He couldn't force him, but he had to fight every cop instinct to push. Even the cold, calculating cop instinct that said a case like this would never make it to court anyway. "Then get clean. I'm going to throw this shit away." He untangled their hands and turned his back on the map of bruises as he gathered the dress and cosmetics, and left Toby to himself. He contemplated the kitchen trash for all of a second, headed for the door instead. He doubled back to grab the shoes and the wet wipe. He wanted this stuff all the way downstairs. He wanted it in New Jersey. He wanted cool air and space before he did something stupid. Something else stupid. Why had he kissed him?

He just kissed a murderer. It hadn't felt any different.

Elliot threw the dress and make up in the dumpster beside the building and walked out to the sidewalk to breathe. He put his hands on his car and took a slow breath in, let a slow breath out. He was so angry he was shaking with it. He wanted to beat the living hell out of every man who'd touched Toby tonight. He wanted to shake Toby until his teeth rattled. Maybe it would be best for everyone if he just got in his car and left.

He paced the sidewalk for a few minutes, testing and rejecting his new anger management techniques one after another. Counting and breathing and picturing a fucking happy place; this rage wasn't going anywhere while those marks were fresh in his mind. Toby let men do that to him. He fed men with rape fantasies and put himself at risk and degraded himself. All the shit Elliot dealt with every day, the stuff he dreaded touching his family, marked out on Toby's body.

Some twisted part of Elliot wanted to go upstairs and fix it all. If he told Toby it was all forgiven and forgotten, Toby would crawl back into his arms in a second, would maybe promise never to let anyone else touch him again. But Elliot hadn't forgiven him, and no possible way could he forget he wasn't Chris Keller, and even if he could do all that, Elliot couldn't be all that stood between Toby and his mission of self destruction.

But he couldn't leave him alone, either.

Elliot shoved his hands in his pockets and found the earrings from earlier. Costume junk. You'd think Toby could afford something better. He threw them in the dumpster after the dress and headed back upstairs.

He let himself in to find Toby already wearing the shirt Elliot had left, and he'd found a pair of sweatpants as well, was sitting on a chair pulled out from the dining table with his knees and feet neatly together, glasses in place. It reminded Elliot of the day he'd handed over his blood test results. That was the day Elliot got on his knees and sucked Toby's cock for the first time. Had Toby been thinking of Chris then? Comparing them? Elliot's fumbling must have been a pathetic disappointment.

Elliot leaned back against the front door, afraid to get closer. "Did you look like that under your suit the day I met you?"

"Near enough."

Elliot couldn't bring himself to ask how many times Toby had let men hurt him. Or even how many times tonight. He felt sick. "You have to talk to your counsellor." Elliot didn't know what else he could do. He couldn't fix Toby. He couldn't pretend everything was all right.

Toby bit his lip, adjusted his glasses. Hitting all Elliot's weak spots. "Please tell me this isn't the last time I'll see you."

It should be. What was he doing, sticking around? Just prolonging the misery of letting go. "I'm going to call you. If I ask if you've been back there, and if you've been seeing your counsellor, will you tell me the truth?"

"I promise."

"All right. Then I'll call." And pretend he wasn't grateful for the excuse. "When does Holly come home?"

"Tomorrow." He looked up at the clock. "This afternoon."

She'd keep him safe for now, at least. Time to go. Elliot stood straight. "Maybe you don't deserve better than this, but you know she does."

"I know."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The clunk of the door closing behind Elliot was loud. Elliot had kissed him.

Toby was trying to remember how sick he'd felt with the humiliation of Elliot finding him playing the prag in that crowd tonight, the whirlwind of panicked thoughts in the cab home, the self-pity he'd been drowning in when he collapsed on the couch, sure he'd have hours to clean himself up before Elliot showed, if he showed at all.

But then Elliot showed up. And kissed him.

Now it was hope knotting Toby's stomach. 

Elliot wanted to forgive him but he was afraid to, and Toby remembered how that felt. Chris wore Toby down in the end. Toby could do it better than Chris. Maybe he could get Elliot back.

Toby looked up at the ceiling. "Is this how you felt, Chris? Did you see that look in my eyes?"

Elliot didn't seem to realise how many times he touched Toby. Every time he touched his knee Toby had wished he'd slide it up, up his thigh, under his dress. Prove he really didn't give a shit about the dress by pressing close, by sliding off the strap and kissing Toby's shoulder the way he probably once did Kathy's.

Chris would have sneered at Toby for the dress. Would have called him a bitch, and maybe he would have been right, but Elliot hadn't judged him. He'd been something else. Sad.

Toby still loved Chris, always would, but he'd had enough of being loved like that for one lifetime. He'd trade it for peace and trust, for someone who'd make him a better man.

The unselfconscious way Elliot had kept touching him, that familiar hand on his leg, had made Toby's cock hard. Just the slightest pressure, the faintest indication and Toby would have spread his knees and forgotten all about what he was wearing, who'd been there earlier tonight, and Elliot would have been the only one he was thinking of.

Of course, Elliot wasn't going to do that.

Yet. Maybe it was just a matter of 'yet'. The way Elliot had kissed him... How could Toby have pretended Hector could substitute? Elliot didn't need to persuade him out of returning to the club. Toby was never going back there. He could still taste Hector's eager tongue and feel pawing hands making him dirtier than any of the rough fucks ever had. He didn't want to feel like that.

Elliot wasn't going to want him while he was screwing everything up. Toby headed for the bedroom and rummaged through the drawer for the bag. Another dress, the rest of his make up. He went and shoved them in the kitchen trash, knotted up the bag and stepped out in the hallway to drop it down the chute. He wasn't going to wait for rock bottom, this time.


	38. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 37, Something:  
> Elliot found Toby asleep on the couch, still in his dress. His rage was tempered by the pain of seeing Toby this messed up. In a moment of weakness, he kissed Toby, but soon remembered the rest, and backed off.   
> He was caught between wanting and anger and pity, but he settled for putting a stop to the worst of Toby's self-abuse. He held it together until he saw Toby naked, rape injuries marked out on his body, but Toby swore he'd asked for all of it. Elliot threw out Toby's dress, and said he'd call Toby.  
> Toby had a fresh injection of hope. He threw out the rest of his drag supplies, ready to get his life together.

Elliot felt Olivia zooming in as soon as she reached the precinct. He'd been saved the effort of avoiding her all morning while he was calling taxi companies and she was out canvassing for the pro from Saturday night, but she had two cups of coffee from the good cafe on 87th and his time was up. She was going to want some kind of explanation for Toby stumbling around the meatpacking district in drag, and Elliot didn't have one.

Thank god the captain was out at some in-service. Elliot didn't know how he'd ever look him in the eye again.

She put the cup of real coffee in front of him and sat on the edge of his desk. Definitely time to talk. He looked around. It was quiet, just a handful of cops and admin absorbed in their jobs. Hardly the place, but maybe this would keep it short and vague.

"Are you and Toby getting back together?"

"No! That's never gonna happen."

The relief on her face made him feel bad for worrying her.

"We broke up. That doesn't mean I want to see him hurt himself."

Olivia rolled that around her brain. "Is that what he was doing?"

"Yes!" What else could it be? Did she think Toby pranced around like that for Elliot? The homophobic asshole in the back of his mind recoiled. He wished Olivia would say something more, but he knew she'd wait. "I don't know how to help him."

"Sometimes you can't help."

"Don't tell me not to." He'd already called him, but Toby hadn't picked up.

She raised a hand. "I'm not." She was thinking it. "El... Is Toby an addict?"

The air slid out of him. "He wasn't high."

"You're sure?"

"He wasn't high. He wasn't drunk. He was stone cold sober." She wouldn't have seen the bruises from that distance. "Don't judge him for how he survived prison. He's been clean a long time, and he was sober last night."

"All right." She thought that was why they broke up. A tendril of relief slid through him. He'd gladly let her believe that over evil twins and serial killer lovers and Toby being a murderer.

Finn and Munch strolled in, and Elliot hoped this talk was going to end soon.

"You told me he was using you."

That's what it had been in the beginning, but it wasn't in the end. "Yeah, well. It's never that simple, is it?"

She was contemplating that when Elliot's cell phone rang.

"Stabler."

"Hi." It was Toby, managing to sound gentle and tentative in a single syllable.

"Hi." He could tell by Olivia's worried eyes that she guessed who it was, but he turned away and went searching for a quiet room.

"I'm sorry. I was in with Beth when you called this morning."

Beth was his counsellor. "That's good."

"I told her everything. About Franco's. About you."

Elliot tried to ignore the way that made his heart thump. He was helping Toby out of a hole, not forgetting what he'd done. He wasn't that much of a sucker.

"I want to apologise for Saturday night," Toby said.

"You don't have to apologise to me."

"I know I hurt you. Again."

"Toby, it's none of my business what-"

"Yes it is." His breath was loud enough to hear down the fuzzy line. "Can I see you?"

"That's not a good idea."

"I want to be the man you thought I was. I want to make it all up to you."

Elliot closed his eyes. "But you're not. And I'm damn sure I'm not." He wished for the thousandth time he hadn't kissed Toby and planted that absurd hope in his head. "You can't fix what you did. I deserve better than you."

"I know. You do, Elliot."

Elliot rubbed his head, wishing Toby would stop being so damned vulnerable. It was making this harder. He had to tell Toby-

The door banged open and Finn stuck his head in, waving a note. "We've got her."

"Hang on." Elliot covered the phone. "What is it?"

"Tamarkin. That snivelling little parolee friend of yours just called. Says she's on her way to drop off a package." He slouched out.

"Toby, I have to go."

"All right."

"I'll call." He snapped his phone shut and snatched up his jacket from his locker, joined Finn at the elevator. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Timing." An escape from Toby. An escape from Olivia, who was watching him from her desk with that special look of concern she saved just for him.

"Whatever. His PO's gonna meet us there."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Langan showed up and threw them out, but he was too late. They had Lida Tamarkin's confession to selling kids. Elliot strode through the anteroom, still feeling blood pump in his fists, the echo of his voice too loud in his ears. He still had her in his nose; the impenetrable stench of garlic and cigarettes had repelled like a layer of armour as he pushed his way in her face, it had blasted on her breath as she shouted right back that she didn't give a goddamn fuck what happened to the little brats. She was going down, not much Langan could do except trade accomplices in to get eighty years down to fifty, but the rage was still ticking in Elliot's bones because this case wasn't done yet. Slow breath in, slow breath out. Fresh air, but he could still smell her. He'd dragged all his hate up to the surface, and he had to push it back.

Leskov was sitting at Munch's desk doing his last read over of his statement, huddled like a hen in a fox house. Elliot needed to walk this off, pump weights, something to take the edge off before he talked to him but he didn't have time. He'd kept an eye on the kid since he sat on his milk crate and agreed to cooperate a month ago. Elliot had stopped by every week to make sure he was still on board, even pestered him into going to a thrift store for a frypan and a couch. Elliot wished he could pretend he didn't see Toby sitting there, cowering. Maybe then he could leave Munch to file the paperwork. Elliot could walk away and he'd never hear from the skel again, but he'd seen the way this guy hunkered down when his PO was around. And he saw Toby, and he couldn't unclench his fists.

Leskov was looking around for Munch to witness his statement and let him go. No time to curl up in lotus and get in touch with his inner om, so Elliot locked it down and headed over. He was going to make a whole mess of problems for the DOC. Elliot was opening his mouth to catch Leskov's attention when his name was barked from Cragen's office. The angry voice. Elliot looked between Cragen and Leskov, who was hunching even tighter. "Captain, I'll just be a-"

"Can you hear my tone, Detective?"

Shit. He didn't have time for a rip. If Cragen would just wait a damned minute to bitch him out, Elliot could pin Leskov down before he scuttled out of here. Elliot was going to go after law enforcement, and this was going to have to be by the book. He needed Leskov.

"Detective Stabler."

Elliot jammed his teeth shut to hold the curse. It was bullshit, but if he wanted to stir up hell, he had to keep his badge, and that meant Cragen's office pronto.

Cragen shut the door hard behind him. "You want to tell me what that was about in there with Tamarkin?"

"I got a confession." There wasn't a damned thing wrong with the way he got it. 

"Yeah, and male cops physically intimidating female suspects never looks bad in court." He circled the desk, but didn't take his chair.

"I never touched her! You really think Langan's going to sell her to the jury as some kind of delicate flower?" She could have matched Elliot pound for pound, and he wouldn't have liked his chances of bringing her in against her will.

"Your temper's riding closer and closer to a place where I won't be able to protect you."

Elliot stepped back, incensed. "I was in control!"

"The hell you were! I don't know what's got you so riled up in this case but I've known you a long time, Elliot, and I know when you're putting it on." He stabbed a finger in the air. "You weren't putting it on in there."

Elliot shut his mouth. What was the point of arguing? He'd been in control, and if the captain didn't see that, then Elliot was just going to have to take the bullshit lecture.

Cragen sat, eyes still sharp but he softened his tone. "It's none of my business what's going on in your personal life until it starts affecting your job. If you need to take time off to take care of it, you have to tell me."

So this was where it started. Cragen got an eyeful Elliot's male lover in drag, and now there was special consideration for Elliot's mid-life crisis. "I don't need time off." What would he do with it anyway? Sit at home and worry about Toby. The idea of it made him tired.

"I'm trying to help you. We could save each other a lot of time and effort if you'd trust me." Cragen slouched back, looking ready to wash his hands of his biggest liability.

If he'd trust him. Hadn't Counsellor Number Two - or Three? - asked Elliot why he thought everyone was judging him? Hadn't Elliot promised himself he'd remember how well Cragen took Toby's phone number? Toby told him if he wanted trust, he had to give a little.

"I'm working on it. I'm trying to... I'm finding someone to talk to about my temper. A shrink."

The captain blinked. "Oh. Good."

It was as easy as that. That was the other side of the coin: if you want to knock someone off their game, give in when they least expect it. "Captain, if you want to read me the riot act, I promise I'll come back and take it, but I really need to clear something up with Leskov before Munch sets him free."

Cragen heaved a little sigh. "Go. But Elliot, if you don't start learning when to walk away, I'm going to start doing it for you."

"Understood."

Elliot beat it out of there. He wasn't going to feel guilty about bullying the confession out of Tamarkin. She was a monster, and god knew how many lives she'd ruined. He didn't feel good about how easy it had been to be that man.

Leskov was still waiting; thank god Munch always took so long in the john. Leskov was the other reason Elliot didn't want any time off. He sat beside him, just a little too close, and paid attention to the way he tensed.

"The statement's good?"

Leskov dipped his head in the affirmative, and accepted Elliot's pen to sign it. "Is that all? Can I go?"

"That's Tamarkin taken care of. She won't be able to use you anymore. You're free to go."

"Thanks, Detective."

"Thanks for your help."

Leskov shrugged.

"Now can I help you?"

Surprise and then suspicion crossed Leskov's face. "What do you mean?"

Elliot checked no one was too close, and lowered his voice. "I don't think she's the only one who's been taking advantage of you."

Panic now. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Elliot wanted to push, but it was a long shot to get this guy's trust, and badgering wouldn't do it. "I want to help, but I can only do that if you talk to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Leskov stood and Elliot grabbed his wrist.

He kept his voice low. "I can't do anything about what went on in Lardner, but what happens on the outside is my turf. If you make a complaint, I'll protect you."

"The fuck you will!"

"You can't just let this keep happening. You have to stop thinking like a con, stand up and be a man."

Leskov was looking around in a panic, like his scumbag PO was going to leap out from under a desk. "I don't have to do anything. You can't tell me how to live!"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't want your help!" He tugged and tugged, snapped, "Let go of me!" before Elliot let him loose. "I did what you asked. Now you can leave me alone!"

"Piotr-"

"Go to hell!"

Leskov raced out, and Elliot sat back in time to see Munch wander back in, newspaper under his arm. "Ah, winning over more witnesses with your traditional charm."

"Shut the hell up." Elliot stormed back to his own chair.

"Did you get his state-"

"On your damned desk."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Thanks for calling, Harry."

"Love you, Dad. Bye."

Toby couldn't help the stupid smile breaking on his face. It was the first time Harry had ever said it unprompted. "I love you too."

Mother came in in time to catch the end as he hung up. "How is Harry?"

"Good. Great. He's decided he likes that new teacher."

She put a glass of apple juice down in front of him and sat in the armchair, kicking off her shoes. "He's calling you a lot more lately."

Toby slid his phone onto the table. "He's only turning to me because he's angry at Jonah and Marta for lying to him about Genevieve."

She heaved a sigh. "I'm not sure I can blame them for that."

"I don't. I just wish I'd known." A small, selfish streak wanted to egg on Harry's anger, win points for himself as he divided Harry further from them until Harry clamoured to come to New York, but he was a better man than that, at least. "Harry's a chatterbox, and Holly barely speaks to me. I feel like I've gone through the looking glass."

Mother waved that off. "There are going to be times your children are mad at you, Toby. It's part of parenting."

Toby jammed his teeth together. This wasn't a squabble over Holly eating her vegetables. She'd been at a brand new school for over a week, in a sea of strangers, and all she had to say about it when she got home every day was that it was fine. The teachers were fine, the classes were fine, the kids were fine. He had no idea if she was settling in or sitting alone through lunch. "Has she told you about school?"

"Of course."

"She hasn't told me anything." She talked to him about what to make for dinner, she asked when she needed money or a form signed, but she'd frozen him out of her life since San Diego. Toby needed to sit her down, talk about the screaming match at Harry's birthday, but he had no idea what to say. How could he tell her how much he hated seeing that kind of cruelty in her? How could he tell her he didn't care if it was fair, he would always be desperately grateful that Harry escaped the worst of the damage? He was helpless in the face of her anger.

Mother looked more closely at him, and Toby knew what was coming next. "She'll come around," she said softly. "I'm more worried about you. You've been so unhappy lately."

"I'm fine."

"Have you had a drink?"

"No."

Usually that was enough, but today she held on. He hated that worried look. "Have you been tempted?"

"I'm always tempted."

"How tempted?"

A raw yearning without a rest since Elliot walked out of his life. "I'm an alcoholic, Mother. I'm tempted. But I haven't touched a drop since January."

She should have told him to check his tone, or snapped back that she had every reason to mistrust him, but she just thinned her lips and checked the clock. "Holly will be home from school in twenty minutes; why don't we all go out for ice cream and we'll prod her along?"

"Sure." Holly's distance seemed like the perfect excuse for calling Elliot. Never mind the state you saw me in on Saturday night, Elliot; can you give me some parenting advice? His advice would be that someone living this sort of life had no business being a parent. But Elliot had kissed him, so Toby didn't know what the hell was going on in his head anymore.

"Have you heard from Elliot?"

Toby almost jumped. Had he said something out loud? "No, Mother."

"I can tell you miss him. Why don't you call him?"

"He doesn't want to hear from me." It had been three days since Elliot told Toby he'd call. He'd never put a date on it. What was Toby going to tell her? I ran into him at the weekend, when I was wearing make up and a dress and raw from being fucked by strangers, Mother. It had won him a few hours of pity, but it looked like that had worn off.

But the kiss...

Toby forced his thoughts back to his mother. "What has Holly told you about school? Is she making friends?" That was the rub of real life. In the empty days of prison he could obsess ceaselessly about Chris. Out here your former lover could catch you in a dress, covered in bruises and come, and you had to shove that in a box while you made dinner and worried about your daughter's freshman social world.

"She really hasn't mentioned Kelly or-"

The old-school ring of Mother's cell phone interrupted. No, Holly hadn't mentioned Kelly or anyone else. He passed the phone over, and she answered it. Her face fell. "Holly, what's wrong?"

Toby sat up.

She put her hand out, but Toby wasn't about to calm down when she looked that worried. "Take a deep breath, sweetheart. Tell me what happened." Her eyes went wide. "You're where?" Toby was ready to rip the phone out of her hand. "We're on our way."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His mother drove them back to his apartment, and as she searched for a parking spot he thanked her and told her to go home. He could see she wanted to argue, but he was supposed to be the parent here; this was his issue to deal with. And maybe he was feeling a little burned that Holly had called her.

Holly was already in the front door and heading upstairs. He followed her up and inside, all the way to her bedroom, caught the door before she could close it on him and sat down without an invitation. She stood in the middle of the room and pouted.

This was the part where he was supposed to yell, or lecture, or ground her, but Jonah was right: he didn't have the stomach for it. Not with Holly. Not with Holly when she'd been giving him the silent treatment for ten days now.

Holly folded her arms and unfolded them, and sat on the bed, looking like she was determined not to cry, no matter what fire he rained down.

He wanted to ask where she got the cigarettes and why on earth she wanted to smoke and how she'd gone from the fifth grader who wouldn't dare to be late with a library book to the freshman blowing off class to smoke in the math block toilets. 

He'd tried to tell the principal that it couldn't have been his daughter: it was all a mix-up, no way would Holly touch a cigarette, but Mrs Diaz could have taught McManus a thing or two about reprimanding the inmates. Toby was still stinging. Holly had been at St Edith's less than two weeks, and had already earned herself a reputation for being sullen and not doing her work. She and two friends had been caught cold when a teacher heard them coughing and choking in a stall. It was like his daughter had been replaced with an alien. Or maybe this was Holly's body-double, just like Chris was Elliot's.

Holly picked her sketchbook up from the bedside table, slid the pen out of the comb as she opened it. Toby reached forward, took the book and the pen, and laid them behind him. "You have my attention. Now what would you like to do with it?"

She just looked at him, sharp cold eyes. She'd worn her hair in a braid today, and all the shorter tendrils at the sides at worn their way loose.

"Do you want me to waste time telling you all the ways smoking is a bad idea? Or can we finally talk about why you're angry with me?"

No answer.

"If you're trying to punish me, this silent treatment is hard enough."

He'd been running through the conversations from Harry's birthday and from the plane trip home for a week and a half, stumped for how to reach her, so he'd let himself drown his inaptitude at Franco's, let himself wrap himself up in second-guessing his relationship with Chris and yearning for Elliot when fixing things with his children should have been the only thing that mattered.

"Are you testing whether I'll still love you if you act out like Harry?" He leaned his elbows on his knees. "Holly, you could burn down the school and I'd still love you. As much as I love you, I'd be angry and worried because you'd still have all the problems you have right now, plus a whole lot more, and I don't want that for you. When my life is hard, I tear it up. Don't learn that from me."

Nothing. Toby never imagined an eleven year-old girl could be so impenetrable. It was getting harder to squeeze the words out as she ignored him, picking at a thread on her blanket. Maybe he should have left her the notebook and pen: then at least he could have gleaned something from her sketches.

"I'm sorry, Holly." He had to clear his throat. "I know I'm not good at this. I know I'm not much of a father. But after all my transgressions, it's caring for Harry that you want to punish me for? You're right, I'm not the one who'll yell at Harry if he gets suspended from school for smoking. I'm also not the one who makes his breakfast or-"

"Not everything in my life's about you!" Her yelling filled the room, forced Toby back in his chair.

"All right." Every motive he'd worked through on the drive home from school had been about him. Him caring about Harry, him pushing her to live to some impossible standard, his prison time ruining her life in fifty other ways. It had never occurred to him that it could have been anything else. "So what is it about?"

She shrugged. That was the only clue she was giving.

"Did you like smoking?"

"Yes." Just a touch of defiant smart-ass. That was new. Or at least it was new to be turned on him. He'd liked it a lot better aimed at Jonah.

"Have you done it before?"

"Sure." Toby raised his eyebrows, and she dipped her head. "Twice."

She looked like his daughter, but he hardly recognised her. All this time he'd had Holly from the Elliot universe, and now she'd been replaced with Holly from the Chris universe. "Did you like being in trouble?"

"I don't care." Her eyes shifted.

"You did like it..." Her eyes crept up. Toby thought about the way she'd held up her chin in the principal's office, the way she'd stared Diaz straight in the eye. After all these years of trying to be the good child, trying not to worry Toby... "You liked sneaking off. Being someone else. Holly Beecher, mad, bad and dangerous to know."

There was that chin-tilt again.

Toby leaned back. He could understand that. Oz had been a different world when Toby came out of the Hole with a reputation for crazy. Making a seasoned guy like Augustus Hill nervous, seeing other guys, even guards, trash-talk Vern for the beating Toby gave him. Throwing back his head and howling through the riot.

"I can see why you'd like that."

She was listening, at last, so he chased the memory.

"I tried it, when I was in Oz. I wanted to make everyone scared of me."

Holly was watching him carefully. "Why did you want to scare people?"

"I wanted to..." Oh. God. Toby looked closely at her. "I wanted to scare away the bullies. Why did you want it?"

Her eyes widened.

"Are you being bullied at school?"

"No."

"Holly, you can talk to me."

"I'm not being bullied." Quietly, she added, "They just think I'm weird."

"Why?"

She shot him a look that was pure 'Duh'. "Because I'm weird."

Toby wanted to argue, of course. She wasn't weird. She was smart and brave and beautiful, remarkably composed for what she'd survived. And just the sort of awkward and shy that middle-schoolers would single out as weird. "Is it better now that the other kids think you're a juvenile delinquent?"

A tiny smile threatened, but she beat it back. "They leave me alone."

Thank god for that. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For talking to me. I miss you."

She looked down, jaw locking tight, and Toby pushed on shamelessly. "You can't even comprehend how much I love you."

Her whole small body shuddered, and Toby wasn't too proud to seize the opportunity. He moved to sit on the bed beside her and teared him up himself when she let him pull her against his chest. 

He told her he loved her again and she whispered it back, and relief made him dizzy.

 

When she finally calmed, he managed to persuade her into cooking dinner together. She was still quiet, but over spaghetti and sauce he managed to coax out that she liked her English class, and the cafeteria was loud and uncomfortably crowded. She'd made a couple of friends in the grade above hers. He was so happy to have her talking again that it wasn't until their plates were clean and she mentioned her friends by name - Kelly and Aisha, her two smoking accomplices - that he remembered she wasn't going to school tomorrow. His little angel was suspended for three days.

Jonah had been right about something else: Toby wouldn't be helping her in the long run if he excused her behaviour. Toby didn't know if his own parents could have done anything that would have set him on a different path, but she had to get a better grip on consequences than he'd had before he landed in Judge Lema's court.

When Holly stood to clear the plates, he sat her back down. She was coming to the office with him while she was off school, and she was going to spend the time catching up on all the work she'd let slide. From here on she'd be doing her homework at the dining table under his watch, and he was going to be talking to every one of her teachers every week to make sure her attitude had improved.

As for the smoking: that was finished. He was going to do spot-checks for contraband, and if he found anything he was going to rain hellfire. She wasn't going to be allowed to socialise after school with Kelly and Aisha until he'd met their parents - outside the principal's office - and agreed to some ground rules.

Holly was back to pouting by the time he was done, but she didn't argue, just excused herself for bed.

"And Holly?" She looked back from her bedroom door. "When I tried to scare everyone away in prison, it alienated people who could have been my friends, and it got me in a lot of trouble." He couldn't even remember how long he spent in the Hole after shitting on Vern's face. He did remember being turned down for parole - while his dad was still alive, and Chris was far away in Cedar Junction, refusing to take his calls for Toby's own good. How might things have been different, if the board had set him free then? "Now the other kids have seen how tough you are. Why don't you let them see how smart and funny and kind you are, and give them a chance to like you?"

When her door closed he buried his face in his hands. The punishments seemed like a long laundry list, and they didn't seem like enough. Holly was smoking. Not even twelve years old, and there was no way to know if this was some isolated reaction to a terrifying new situation or the first step on Toby's own terrible path. Maybe he should have told the school about Holly's past, so Diaz would understand. He couldn't help wondering what Elliot would think - if he'd been too soft, or too harsh. Maybe overreacting would be as dangerous as under reacting.

The ringing phone interrupted his whirling thoughts, and he answered it without looking. "Hello?"

"Hey. Toby."

"Elliot." His stomach went from swirling to somersault. He called. Elliot called him. Toby could taste that kiss.

"Hi. Look, I was wondering... Could we meet up? I need to talk to you." Elliot sounded all business, like a man determined, but Toby didn't care. He called.

"Of course." Toby didn't care how desperate he sounded. "Just tell me when." Toby would leave Holly to sleep and come meet him right now if he asked.

"If I can get away tomorrow, maybe we could meet near your office?"

"Lunch?" Just like the old days.

There was the briefest of pauses. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely haru drew this stunning illustration, which captures Toby and Holly perfectly. Wheee!!!


	39. A waterfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 38, Smoke:  
> After the eyeful she got at Franco's, Olivia had some curiosity and concerns as to the current nature of Elliot's relationship with Toby. Elliot preferred to avoid.  
> Toby called to let Elliot know he was fixing himself up, and to give the audible equivalent of puppy-eyes. Elliot was grateful to avoid, again.  
> Elliot went maybe too far in an interrogation (depends who you ask), almost pushed too far with Cragen, and then failed to reassure his new snivelling parolee friend that he could help him.  
> Toby was doing well with Harry, not so well with Holly, who was marking the start of freshman year with a suspension for smoking. Toby's downward spiral into self-flagellation was halted by an invitation to lunch with Elliot.

Elliot managed to sneak up, paused a couple of tables away to watch Toby fiddling nervously with his watch. Not just Elliot, then. Dressed like a man, thank god: a white shirt and pale blue tie for the office, and he'd got himself a crew cut since Saturday. It looked good on him. He looked neat and ironed and incredibly tired. They weren't here to get back together. Or to indulge the tightening in Elliot's gut, as he watched Toby's chest swell with a breath, eyes suddenly lifting to catch Elliot's.

"Hi," said Elliot.

"Hi," said Toby.

They weren't here to get back together. Elliot shuffled forward and slid into the seat opposite. The diner was a new spot, but it felt like all their dinner dates in the early days, when Elliot hadn't understood, hadn't even questioned his sudden interest in the unlikely stranger. "Thanks for seeing me."

Toby's eyebrows rose at the formality. "You know I-" He cut himself off, reconsidered. "Anytime."

Yeah, Elliot knew. A waitress stopped to offer drinks, and Elliot ordered a burger and fries to put off any more interruptions, rushing his way through the sauce and cheese and temperature and side salad and dressing choices, grateful when Toby just asked for the same. Toby only had his lunch hour, and Elliot never knew when he might get called back to work.

As soon as she was gone, Elliot asked, "How are you doing?"

"All right. Seeing my counsellor. Keeping my head down."

Elliot took a little breath. "Me too."

Toby's brow creased, confused.

"I'm looking for a counsellor. About my temper."

Toby's surprise could have been insulting. "That's good."

"I haven't found someone I'm comfortable with yet, but I'm looking."

"Maybe you need someone who doesn't make you comfortable."

Elliot snorted. "Maybe I do."

Toby reached out and caught Elliot's hand, seemed to realise too late he shouldn't, but though he looked wary, he didn't let go. "I miss you."

Elliot dipped his head.

After a moment, Toby said, "I'm sorry. I'm guessing you didn't ask me here to hear that."

Maybe part of him had, but he hated that part of him, hated the weakness. Toby didn't need to be getting any wrong ideas. Elliot slid his hand free. "I asked you to meet me because I was hoping to get your advice. I have a parolee, five months out. I'm pretty sure his PO's fucking him."

Toby's face hardened. "Raping him."

"Yeah. I don't know how to get him to talk."

"And now I'm your all-purpose guide to prison abuse."

"Toby..."

"It was stupid of me to hope it was something else."

"What did you expect?"

Toby huffed. "I don't know."

"You're never going to fix what you did."

"Then you shouldn't have kissed me."

Elliot's cheeks burned. Toby was right about that.

Of course there was more than Leskov dragging him into this diner, but Toby didn't have the right to make Elliot admit it. You didn't just stop caring that the man you loved had been closing his eyes and pretending you were someone else. 

Toby picked up his silverware and rolled it out of the napkin, sorted it all onto the table. In Toby's fantasies, Elliot would just get over it. "If he was fucked all through prison, he probably doesn't put a lot of faith in the judicial system. He survived in there, so he knows better than to squeal."

Elliot wished he could tell Toby to forget about Leskov, and go back to talking about them. "No one else is going to help him."

"Sometimes, people have to help themselves." Toby shrugged, a damn good impression of the indifferent con, and it set Elliot's hackles.

"You think I should drop him some PCP? Let him get sky high and murder the dirty officer? It can be one of those heart-warming cases where I find myself locking up the victim for killing the perp I couldn't protect him from."

Too harsh, way too damned close, but Toby wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "You won't get shit out of him unless you can make him believe you can keep him safe from this PO, from the PO's friends, from the criminals this PO has in his pocket. That's a pretty hard sell."

"How do I make him believe it?"

Toby stared him down, eyes startlingly blue. "Fuck whether he believes it. Can you do it?"

Elliot squashed his automatic 'yes'. The PO would know who his accuser was. And Toby was right: he'd have friends on both sides of the law. Leskov would be in danger even if the officer was convicted. And if he wasn't... "Let me think about that."

"The kid's gonna be ass-fucked the rest of his life. Nothing you can do."

The waiter set out their plates, and Elliot was grateful for the break. This was the side of Toby he'd never wanted to know.

The burgers were average; the fries were damned good. Keeping Leskov safe would be a challenge. But they'd only just started their dinner, and they were done talking about him. Now the silence stretched out and Elliot dreaded that Toby was going to start apologising or begging another chance or even worse, chatting away like everything was fine.

Toby didn't say anything at all.

Elliot let the quiet go for as long as he could, made good headway through their meal before he asked, "Have you had any more trouble with Stalin?"

"No. He got what he wanted."

"Me." The lever Agent Taylor needed to get to Toby. Had it done him any good?

"Yeah." Toby took another bite of his burger, chewed slowly. "How's Maureen?"

Elliot snorted. They weren't going to exchange small talk about their families, like they were friends again. Even if he ached to know how Holly was doing, how much damage he'd done to her with his fit of temper, if Toby's escapades were making it worse.

Elliot knew the next thing he wanted to talk about. He wiped his hands on a napkin. "Tell me about him."

"About Stalin?"

"About Christopher Keller." Elliot had told himself not to do this, but he needed to know what piece of humanity Toby found underneath it all. That Toby had loved a person, not just a thing. Right now Elliot only knew that the mouth that had kissed his daughter's cheek had knowingly kissed a man who raped, tortured and murdered three young men.

Toby didn't seem eager to talk now.

"I want to know what you saw in him."

Toby ate a couple of fries. "I don't know, Elliot. How do we ever know what that connection is?"

"Bullshit. I can tell you exactly what I saw in you."

Toby met his gaze, obviously wanting to ask what it was, but Elliot just glared at him. Don't you dare.

Finally Toby looked away, stroking a hand down his tie and breathing hard as he considered. He chewed his lip. Did he really need to think about it? Or did he just need to figure out what he'd admit to Elliot? "Chris was the first person in that place who didn't write me off as a hopeless bitch or a crazy fuck. This prison-tough was watching my back, trusting me to watch his. Talking to me. He made me feel like a human." A quiet smile tugged the edge of his lip. "And he was charming. He seduced a nun." He caught Elliot's expression and back-pedalled. "He didn't sleep with her. He just... made her question her vocation."

As if that was better. Murphy had told him to talk to a nun if he wanted to know Toby. Sister Peter Marie. "Support, trust, charm. Was that the act you fell for, or was that really him?" Elliot honestly wanted to know. It sounded like pure con artist.

Toby pushed his plate aside and leaned forward on the table, his eyes bright. "Chris was hard, all stone and sharp edges, but he made himself weak for me. Vern and fuck-knows who else ripped out most of his soul when he was just a kid but he scraped up what was left and he gave it to me." Toby had cupped his hands, like he still held whatever good was left behind in Keller.

"Before or after he broke your arms?"

Toby slumped back. "You don't want to understand."

"Why the hell do you think I'm sitting here?" Elliot snapped. He wasn't going to get closure on this until he knew what Toby had been looking for in him.

Toby dropped his head, contrite. "That was after. He confessed, brought down the wrath of the Aryans, thought that would fix everything. I pushed him away but he kept on trying. Made himself look like the bitch in front of the rest of Oz. You know how hard it is for you to be vulnerable. Imagine how hard it was for him."

Elliot's power of empathy just didn't stretch that far. "So what was it? How did he get you back?"

"A friend made me realise I couldn't ask forgiveness while I withheld it from others." Toby shrugged, eyes unfocused as he drifted back in warm memories. "I already wanted to forgive him, and I hated myself for it. I thought it was weakness. I wanted to but I was afraid because I missed him so fucking much. The real Chris or the con artist, I almost didn't care."

Elliot's gut squeezed, and he had to fight to keep it off his face. "But you did. Forgive him."

"I told him I forgave him, and he put his arms around me, and it was the first full breath I'd taken in months."

The way he said it made Elliot think of their kiss the other night, all that longing and relief. The way Elliot had wanted to just forget all the shit, have Toby back again. Maybe he understood after all. "The day I found out about who Chris was, what he did... You wanted me to hit you. To be like him."

Toby shrank inwards. "I wanted you to hurt me, but that was nothing like him. Chris wasn't about rage."

Elliot felt his eyebrows crawling up.

"He never acted in rage," Toby insisted. "Everything Chris did was calculated, all for power. "

"Did you see those crime scene photos?"

That took a little wind out of him "That wasn't the man I knew. Chris's anger ran cold. I got contempt when I tried to make peace with Vern, a cold shoulder when I blamed him for Gary. Even when Chris mur- Even when Chris hurt men I'd, other men I'd..."

Murdered. Men Toby had... slept with? More bodies, piled up in prison? Elliot leaned in. "Don't stop now, Toby. Tell me about the men Keller murdered." Toby probably didn't realise how much he needed to talk. He'd never been able to tell anyone, and he'd been stewing in guilt. Put a skel like this in an interrogation room, prod him just right, and the confession spilled out like a waterfall.

Toby lifted his chin. "They weren't crimes of passion. They were messages, composed and edited, addressed to the warden with me left to read between the lines. Chris poured all his passion into me when we fucked; when he was angry, he took it away."

This was more than Elliot wanted. It wasn't helping him to understand why Toby had cared for Chris, but maybe it was making Chris more human. 

Toby pushed a hand through his newly short hair, sat forward. "Have you ever been completely fucked? No way out, no hope, nothing to do but go out swinging?"

Elliot nodded. Too many times. Some times he hadn't cared as much as he should have.

"That's how I felt the day Vern decided he was done with me, that he was going to throw me out to the homeboys to be murdered. That's when I tried to kill him. I was going to die, and all I could do was grab everything and drag it all down with me, doing all the damage I could."

Elliot was holding tight to his chair.

"That's how Chris loved me. Both barrels blazing, nowhere to go but down in glory." Affection was creeping into his tone, and it turned Elliot's stomach. That's what Elliot had been competing with. "Do you know how many nights Chris and I had together as lovers? Twenty-six. We didn't even have a month in all. That's if you count the nights when my kids were missing."

"Toby. I have to ask." He shouldn't ask; he didn't want to know, didn't know what he'd do if Toby said yes, but he had to. He had to fight the words out. "Did you kill him?"

"Who?"

"Chris?"

Toby's mouth fell open. "No."

"You were a suspect."

Toby's eyes flashed: betrayal that Elliot had gone digging, even after all this. "I almost ended up on death row but I didn't kill him. I loved him."

Elliot desperately, desperately wanted to believe him - his innocence, not the love - but he didn't know if he did. "Everyone suspected he ruined your first parole."

"He did." Toby ran a finger along the edge of his plate. "I had three weeks with Holly and Harry, and then Chris set me up to get caught smuggling drugs. Cancer drugs, not... They were for his ex-wife." His voice was flat, like it was someone else's story. "Cops picked me up and sent me straight back in. We argued; he still thought I could... after he did that to me, to them, he thought I'd just forgive him again." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "I was afraid I might, eventually. I begged him to let me go and he-" His voice caught, but he ploughed on, staring in Elliot's eyes, begging him to understand. "He threw himself over that balcony. I can't even tell you how it felt to see him lying down there. And then someone pulled me away and I realised I might end up on death row and right then I didn't even care. I think I was relieved."

After all these years of wondering how spouses and parents pleaded ignorance, how they swore by the innocence of people they shared their lives and homes with, Elliot was the one suddenly dunked in a cold dose of reality. He'd known the smallest slice, a single face of god knew how many, and maybe Toby could murder a man with his bare hands. Right now, Elliot honestly didn't know.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I don't know." Maybe Toby killed him. Maybe he didn't. Elliot wasn't certain which he wanted to be true. Maybe Elliot would have killed someone who ripped him away from his kids.

"It was me I should have been angry with. I knew." Finally, Toby's face crumpled. "I fucking knew the moment he asked me a favour. I could see it in his eyes, and I knew he was capable, but I wanted to believe he wouldn't do that to me." Toby's voice was trembling. "I sacrificed my kids because I wanted to believe Chris loved me the same way I loved him. You know what finally broke us? I could have held on if I'd believed screwing my parole was spur of the moment, a moment of weakness: just... a moment." He shook his head. "It wasn't a moment. It was a plan. He looked me in the eye while he was setting me up. Chris was a schemer. Everything he did, even love, was calculated. The only thing Chris ever did on the spur of the moment was throw himself over that balcony. Sometimes I wonder if even that was planned."

Elliot barely caught the last few words. He wanted to take Toby's hand. He wished he hadn't chosen such a public place for Toby to peel himself open. Toby barely seemed to care that he was crying, but Elliot cringed at the waitress's curious look as she passed by.

After a few moments Toby got himself back under control. "I don't know what you want, Elliot. I'm not going to make you okay with who he was or what he did." He held Elliot's gaze. "He murdered those three boys. I know he did it. I saw the photos." He swallowed. "I don't think he was enraged. I think he was terrified."

"You think that makes it okay?"

"Of course I don't. But you know what I've learned over the years? No one's a comic book hero or villain. It's easy to paint the world in good guys and bad guys, but even Vern Schillinger loved his kids."

Elliot didn't give a fuck if Vern Schillinger loved his kids. He gave a fuck that Schillinger abused Toby so badly that Toby could cling to a monster like Chris Keller for comfort. He gave a fuck that Keller broke Toby's bones and family and self-worth.

"In Chris's defence, he never tried to kill me. I tried to kill him twice."

Elliot poked at his cold fries. Every defence Toby made made Elliot hate Keller more, and the more he hated Keller, the angrier he got with Toby, still pining for that fuck after all he'd done.

Toby didn't seem to get that at all. "I'm not asking you to understand. You can't understand what it's like in there, how it turns you inside out." Toby reached across, touched Elliot's plate but not quite his hand. "I am asking you to forgive me. Not now maybe, but eventually..."

Hot acid burned in Elliot's throat. "Do you know what I understand? That you'd rather be with someone who broke your arms and dragged you back to prison than be with me." Elliot recoiled at how childish and jealous that sounded, but he couldn't take it back. He was jealous of a dead serial killer. He pulled out his wallet and dropped enough cash to cover both their burgers, ignored Toby's plaintive look and used the last tatters of his self control to make his rush for the door look like a dignified stroll.


	40. Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 39, A waterfall:  
> Elliot met up with Toby to ask his advice on earning a parolee's trust. Toby was kind of a dick about it. Elliot asked Toby to explain Chris, so Toby tried, reluctantly, but Elliot didn't much enjoy hearing what made Chris Keller so fucking lovable. 
> 
> This chapter contains spoilers for The Great Escape (1963). If you haven't seen one of the all time greatest movies, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"Detective Stabler."

Shit.

Elliot knew Olivia picked up on the way he tensed as that FBI prick Taylor approached across the foyer. She hadn't been there when Taylor showed up with the photos, thank god. She didn't know the connection. "You're looking for me?"

"No, I have an appointment with a judge, but I have been meaning to stop by your precinct to thank you for your help."

His help? Elliot wanted to tell him he didn't give him any help, but he kept his mouth shut and glared. Toby must be the one who helped. Toby was full of surprises. "I trust you got what you wanted?"

"It's too late for what I want, but Patrick Adamson's family got to bury their son last month, and I think that was worth stepping on a few toes."

Adamson? A fourth victim for Keller? "If you want to thank me, keep the hell out of my way." Elliot pressed Olivia towards the exit before he lost the fight to contain his growl. Knowing he wouldn't have done less if he was in Taylor's position only made it worse.

Olivia's heavy stare didn't help. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

If Elliot was in Taylor's position, he'd know a lot about Keller. And Keller's death. 

"Listen, Liv, I'll catch up, all right?"

"Casey's waiting at-"

"Two minutes." He hurried back. Taylor didn't seem stupid. He had to know as well as Elliot did that Toby ordered the hit on Hank Schillinger, but he hadn't fingered Toby. Maybe he wasn't a complete asshole. "Agent Taylor."

Taylor was sitting on a bench, looking like he'd been waiting for Elliot to double back. Smug prick. He stood as Elliot approached.

Elliot came close enough to ask quietly, "Do you think Beecher killed Keller?"

He looked startled by the question. "There's no way."

Oh. Elliot hadn't expected that. "There are witnesses who say he did."

"Detective, I don't care if there's video footage and signed affidavits from every guard on duty that day. Beecher wouldn't have done it."

"Keller ruined his parole." Elliot didn't know why he was trying to persuade Taylor of Toby's guilt. This was a man who could put Toby back in prison, and as angry as Elliot was with Toby, he didn't want that.

Taylor brushed it off like old news. "We had a deal on the table. Beecher testified, he went home to his kids. The state would have killed Keller. But Keller went over that balcony, the deal went south, and Beecher did another eighteen months. No fucking way Beecher killed his ticket out of Oz."

Toby hadn't told him that. "He was going to testify against Keller?"

Taylor started to answer, then hesitated. "I don't know. I think he was leaning our way. He was pissed at Keller, but whether he would have let us put him back on death row... I was banking on his kids making the difference."

Holly and Harry would have made the difference. Elliot was sure of that. "You must have known Keller pretty well."

"You must have a few bottom drawer cases yourself, where you know who did it but you just can't make it stick."

He did. Elliot studied those guys until he knew them better than their own mothers. "What did you think of Beecher and Keller?"

"I think Beecher had bad taste in lovers."

Elliot agreed, but it wasn't what he was after. "Do you think Keller was capable of loving Beecher?"

He could feel Taylor reassessing him, but to hell with it. Elliot never planned on seeing him again, and he'd kept his mouth shut about Elliot so far.

Taylor tipped his head to the side. "You remember that chemical attack on Oswald three years ago?"

"Yeah..." Elliot blinked. He'd forgotten about that. "A bunch of prisoners and couple of guards died." Toby must have been in there when-

"The mailroom was staffed by the Aryan Brotherhood - who were all gunning for Beecher."

Elliot's skin crawled. No power on this earth would make Elliot believe Toby organised a mass murder. "What are you saying? They got the guy who did it."

"We did. He was an old running mate of one Christopher Keller. Who'd gone over the balcony just that morning."

Elliot stared. "The chemical attack that shut down Oswald Prison and put Homeland Security on high alert for months was for Toby?"

Taylor slid his hands in his pockets. "While Beecher was deciding whether to put Keller back on death row, Keller was orchestrating the deaths of all of Toby's enemies. I don't know if that's love, but for an animal like Keller, it's a pretty damned good simulation."

 

Olivia was waiting in the sun on the steps out the front of the courthouse, her jacket draped over her arm. Elliot wished she'd gone ahead; he needed time to think. He was reeling. For the first time since Taylor laid that photo on the table, he felt bad for Chris's death.

She fell in beside him, and he jumped in before she could ask. "I want to check Billington's phone records. We don't know why she was in the-" 

"Did Toby have something to do with the murders in those photos?"

Elliot didn't answer, and she grabbed his arm hard as they hit the pavement, hauling him to a stop.

"Elliot, you're a cop! If you get caught protecting-"

"I'm not!"

She didn't let go.

"Toby was."

He could see her working through the threads, and he wondered how much time she'd spent puzzling out him and Toby. "That's why you split. You found out he was protecting someone."

Elliot rubbed his face. That was the smallest corner piece of it.

"Was he an accessory?"

"No. He just... He had information. That agent used me to leverage Toby, and he got what he wanted. It's done."

"A fellow prisoner?"

That was close enough. 

Olivia was quiet, but Elliot knew better than to hope she was going to drop it. "Prison politics are-"

"Don't." Elliot couldn't stand to hear Olivia defending any of it. His grip on his disgust was already slipping. He still wanted to crawl in a hole when he remembered how pathetic he'd sounded when he left the diner. He should have told Toby that Chris was welcome to him. He should have told Toby he didn't want his affection, now he knew what Toby wanted in a lover. He should have told Toby he didn't want to understand and it would be a cold day in hell before he forgave anything.

"It sounds like Toby stopped protecting him."

"Long after the killer died. There'll never be justice for the parents of those boys."

But now Elliot had Taylor's version in his head, Toby watching Chris fall, losing his lover and his family and his freedom in one brutal moment. He hated how much it hurt. "He lied, Olivia. He lied about fucking everything."

Olivia took the hint and shut up, but as they headed down the sidewalk to the car, he wished she hadn't. He wanted her to ask. This ache in his chest felt too big, like if he didn't let it out, something was going to break. It took until they were halfway back to the precinct to say it himself.

"I miss him."

Her eyes never left the road, and the quiet stretched so long he started to wonder if he'd imagined saying it out loud, but finally she asked, "Are you thinking about going back to him?"

"No." He shot the word out too fast, and his voice sounded unnatural. 

Olivia glanced over, worried. She didn't believe him. "Does he miss you?"

"Yeah."

When they parked, took the keys out and looked across. "You do want him back."

He wanted it, but that didn't make it right. If Olivia knew everything, she'd tell him to run a mile. Chris Keller's body count kept on climbing. "I can't take him back. What he did... I don't know if there's any way it could be fixed."

Gently, she said, "Maybe you need to let him know it's worth trying."

Elliot slumped into his seat. He didn't know if he could do that. He doubted he could sit in a room with Toby without raging at his betrayal. Even telling Toby there was a chance seemed to minimise everything Toby had done, made Elliot look like a needy fool.

But Elliot was a needy fool. He was starting to fear he'd forgive anything, if it would let him lie beside Toby at night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Happy anniversary, Toby.

Toby raised his tumbler of juice in a toast. One year of freedom. He'd marked the occasion by polishing off some leftovers and watching a movie on TV.

He'd considered getting out of the house, treating himself to an awkward lonely restaurant meal, even just going for a walk to appreciate the fresh air, the temperature just starting to slide with autumn, but this was an occasion that deserved a champagne toast so he was staying inside these four walls where his most inviting option was apple juice.

Great progress.

But he needed to be a worthy father to his kids, and he needed to be a man Elliot could respect, so maybe he didn't deserve to be celebrating anything yet.

Mother thought he was doing something special with Holly. He'd had to beg her not to make a fuss. Toby wanted a fuss, but he wanted it from Holly and Elliot, not his mother.

Holly had gone to a friend's house. It had been a week and a half since he was dragged into the principal's office. She was back at school and her teachers were reporting improvements, but things weren't how they used to be. She was telling him a little about her day, but she still disappeared into her room as soon as he'd checked her homework. She'd chosen to go to Aisha's house tonight, and Toby didn't know if it was spite or if she'd just plain forgotten that her father had been home for a year today. He'd been afraid to remind her, in case she didn't care.

So here he was, with a glass of juice and a bowl of cashews, watching the Gestapo threaten Richard Attenborough. Fucking Nazis.

You didn't get cashews in prison.

He was barely paying attention to the movie. When he wasn't wallowing in being forgotten, he was staring at the yellow disposable lighter sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He'd sorted the clothes hamper an hour ago, ready to wash in the morning. Darks and lights, checking pockets. Holly never checked hers. Tissues, hair bands, ten dollars and one yellow cigarette lighter. He'd sniffed the pants he found it in, and they'd smelled faintly of cigarettes. He had no idea what he was going to do. He couldn't yell at her. Begging didn't work. This was supposed to be his new start of being a perfect father, and he was already stumped.

The knock at the door made Toby jump. It was rare for the neighbours to be asking favours this late. He dragged himself off the couch and checked the peephole and his breath caught. Elliot? He looked so serious. Toby's stomach churned. Had something terrible happened?

Toby pulled open the door, still adjusting his glasses, wishing he'd pulled a comb through his hair. Did Elliot know what tonight was?

Elliot stood at attention. "I'm sorry you lost Chris. I'm not sorry he's dead, but I'm sorry for your loss."

Toby stared at him, wordless. The speech dug deep in his gut, sharper than he'd ever... Because he'd never felt it. "Nobody's ever said that to me. Only the funeral director, when I called to make arrangements." A funeral he organised, but couldn't attend.

Elliot didn't respond, but he was here, and Toby didn't know what that meant but he wanted Elliot inside, so he stepped back, hopeful.

"Is Holly home?"

"She's at a friend's."

Elliot stepped in. "You watching a movie?"

Toby looked at the TV, taken off guard by Elliot's casualness. Yes, he was watching a movie. "The Great Escape. It's a recent favourite."

Elliot allowed a small smile, and Toby held onto the door. He wanted Elliot to stay and smile like that for a few hours.

"It's a good movie. Mind if I join you?"

Mind? Toby would have begged. "No." 

Elliot slid off his jacket and hung it over a chair, rolling up his sleeves as he went and sat on the couch. Toby's eyes followed them up as those forearms were exposed, stared at the shift of muscles as Elliot took a handful of cashews from Toby's bowl. No shoulder holster today. Did that mean coming here was something he'd planned?

Suddenly Elliot stiffened, face turning dark as he stared at the coffee table. It took Toby a moment to realise what had his attention.

"It's apple juice."

Elliot's eyes rose.

"Taste it. I felt like celebrating."

Elliot didn't ask what he was celebrating, but he didn't hesitate to pick up the glass and take a sip.

Toby closed the door and crossed to perch beside him, afraid to believe. He wished he knew what had changed Elliot's attitude.

"Watch the movie, Toby. I'll be here when it's over." He took some more nuts, and gestured towards the screen. "This is a good part."

Toby tried, but his eyes kept drifting back to that profile: sharp eyes, strong nose, sexy, delicious lips. If this was a test of Toby's patience, Toby was going to fail. He didn't like being tested: shadings of Chris, and he didn't want to ever compare them again.

As James Garner poured everyone moonshine for the Fourth of July, Elliot said it again. "Watch the movie, Toby."

"I don't want to watch the movie."

Elliot looked at him, and it at least seemed like that amused affection Toby remembered. Toby wished he knew what Elliot needed to hear to be convinced. Elliot probably wasn't going to get stabbed by Aryans, and if he did, Toby wouldn't be there to defend him. Elliot wasn't going to need help seducing some needy, naive kid, or playing some other con that might convince him he was little better than Toby after all. He was right in front of Toby, but the distance was infinite, insurmountable.

"Elliot, I'm sorry I lied to you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I used you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I..." Toby didn't know how to encompass the rest of it. Sorry his life was so fucked up that it had inevitably pulled Elliot's down.

Elliot's eyes were startlingly blue. "This is a good part."

Toby relented and turned his eyes to the television, if not his attention. He was trying to think of reasons not to have his hopes up, but Elliot was sitting on his couch, so close he could smell him.

Elliot never took his eyes from the TV, until he lifted the empty bowl. "Got any more nuts?"

"Yeah." Toby went and filled it up, came to the kitchen door. He'd been so terrified of reminding Elliot he was still here that he hadn't even offered him a drink. "Did you want a soda?"

"Wouldn't mind one."

Toby cracked a can of Coke, then he went back to the fridge and cut a slice of the apple pie he'd made yesterday. He came back to see Elliot playing with Holly's lighter, a curious expression on his face. Toby smothered the urge to make a joke about freebasing crack cocaine.

Four kids: Elliot had to have hit this speed bump. Maureen, or Kathleen... probably Kathleen. Maybe if Toby told him how badly he was failing, he could dole out some wise advice. 

Elliot's face lit when Toby put the pie in front of him, and he slid the lighter back on the table, forgotten. "Yes, please." He took a bite and closed his eyes. "It's good."

Better than good. Elliot's eyes used to close in pleasure like that when Toby wrapped a hand around his cock. What the hell was he doing here? Toby wanted to ask if he knew what tonight was, if he'd seen the date while he was snooping through Toby's background, but maybe the wrong question would send him running.

As the pie rapidly disappeared, Elliot looked over. "Lets just stick with this for now, all right?"

Toby stared at him. He didn't know if he was passing or failing.

"I don't even know if..." There was an edge in his voice. "I need time, Toby."

"All right." Toby forced himself to face the television.

Elliot wasn't testing him. He needed to be sure Toby was here with him, not Chris. Toby didn't know how to prove it, but if Elliot wanted time, Toby was going to give him all the time he needed. Would it be pushing too hard to rest a hand on his leg?

Would it be pushing it to tell Elliot how unlike Chris it was to ask for time? For Chris there'd been no 'in between' fucking and fighting, uncertainty never given more than a brief flutter through his eyes. Chris had never trusted Toby with that.

The tunnel broke through twenty feet short, and the prisoners ran for the trees. As the POWs searched out trains and trucks and bikes to freedom, Toby could only watch the minutes creeping towards the credits, desperately searching for something to keep Elliot here. Right up until McQueen was escorted back to the cooler for the last time, and the theme music rolled into the credits.

Elliot stood as the credits flashed through the characters. "Thanks for the pie."

Toby stood as well, and kept his distance. If this was a test, letting Elliot leave seemed to be part of it. "No problem." He wanted to tell Elliot, this was my anniversary. Thank you for saving me from being alone tonight.

He followed Elliot to the door, but left some space. It was up to Elliot if there was going to be anything else, but he wasn't above hoping. Praying, even. If Elliot wanted to kiss him goodbye, he was right here. He folded his arms to keep from reaching out, and then realised he might look defensive and unfolded them. He took off his glasses, just in case. "Holly's going to be at my mother's next Thursday."

Elliot considered for a second. "I'll call and let you know."

"I'll cook."

"I'll call you and let you know."

"All right."

Their eyes held, and Toby thought, maybe... and then Elliot gave a nod and let himself out.

Toby sank against the door, disappointed. And relieved. He hadn't lost Elliot. If Elliot had reached his hand this far, then Toby wasn't going to lose him.


	41. Focaccia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 40, Celebration:  
> Running into that FBI prick Taylor made Elliot's buttocks clench, but Taylor had a few surprises: notably his absolute certainty that Toby was innocent of killing Keller, and some inside information that Keller mass murdered Aryans for Toby's benefit.  
> Liv had concerns for Elliot's rekindling feelings, but gave lukewarm support.  
> Toby was celebrating a year of freedom with The Great Escape and leftovers when Elliot showed up, and offered qualified condolences for Chris. He didn't have much to say, but he stuck around, and that seemed big.

Elliot knocked, heard Toby call something from inside. He had his key - had used it to come in downstairs - but it still didn't feel right to be letting himself in the way things were.

The door swung open. Flour was dusting one of Toby's ears and the front of his t-shirt, and he was wiping his hands on a towel. If he hadn't razed his hair short, Elliot was sure it would be sticking up. He was rumpled and a little sweaty and smelled like spices.

"Are you sure it's all right I'm here early?"

"Of course. As long as you don't mind standing around while I'm cooking."

"You know I never mind that." Elliot winced. He shouldn't have said it like that, like everything was back to how it used to be. It made it seem like it would be easy to pull the towel from Toby's hands and brush the flour off him. He was starting to believe maybe it could happen one day, but there was a yawning chasm between now and then, and Elliot still couldn't see how Toby would build that bridge.

Cooking suited Elliot just fine. Aside from the obvious benefits, it was something to hold Toby's focus better than an old movie, so he wouldn't just be staring at Elliot with hopeful eyes. Elliot was afraid he wouldn't last another night of that.

And he'd been missing Toby's cooking almost as much as he'd missed Toby.

Toby led the way to the kitchen. "I was just working on some focaccia."

On the other hand, no TV meant they were going to talk. "You're baking bread now?"

"It seemed like what came next."

Toby had ingredients lined up along the back of the counter. Elliot unbuttoned his wrists and rolled up his shirt sleeves, then tucked in his tie. Pulling it off would seem too much like an invitation. "Put me to work."

"There's a baking sheet in the cupboard over the fridge. If you could oil it with this..." He pointed to the oil with his elbow.

"No problem." Elliot pulled down the sheet as Toby unwrapped the bowl of risen dough and started pulling it with his fingers. The kitchen routine was familiar, but it had been so long since they talked about all the little things that used to come so easily. Two months. Elliot had no idea what was going on in Toby's life. "How's Holly liking middle school?"

The expression that passed over Toby's face was hard to decipher, but it wasn't good. Elliot could hardly imagine how hard it was for someone so shy to settle in at a new school.

"She's been pretty quiet about it so far."

Elliot was pretty sure Toby was lying. Again. "Did you make it to San Diego for Harry's birthday?"

Toby's shoulders rose and fell. "We went."

We? "You took Holly?"

"Yeah."

Toby seemed to want to leave it at that, but Elliot wanted to hear the rest. "Tell me about it."

Toby laid the dough on the sheet and leaned back on the counter, looking worn out.

"They fought?"

"They didn't speak for most of it, which was fine by me." Toby caught his lip in his teeth. "Holly had a fight with her grandfather."

Ouch. "What was it about?"

"American military policy." He turned back to the dough, stretching it out to cover the tray, poking it with his fingers.

"Seriously?" There had to be more to it than that. Elliot would have liked to have seen it. He still couldn't picture Holly in a fury - though if she saw Elliot again, he suspected he'd see her ugly side. 

Guilt squeezed Elliot's gut, the memory of Holly screaming and flying to Toby rising as it did every time he thought of her. His knuckles aching as he stared in horror at her blonde head buried in Toby's shoulder and her skinny arms clinging on for all she was worth. Right up against that wall over there. Could Elliot blame Toby for not wanting to talk about her with him? Maybe whatever was going on with Holly had something to do with watching her father being punched. 

Elliot really didn't ever want to face Holly again.

"She told Harry's friend that we sent him away because he was too ugly."

Elliot snorted, saw Toby's face and shrugged. "That's funny. Terrible, but you have to admit it's a little funny."

Toby's eyes lifted and he smiled, but it didn't last long. "Harry had told all his friends I was dead."

Elliot stopped laughing. He lifted his hand, hesitated, and then squeezed Toby's shoulder. "I'm sorry." Toby looked like he regretted bringing it up, probably worried that it was too soon to burden Elliot with his messed up life. Elliot wanted to remind him that it wasn't Holly or Harry that had sent Elliot running.

"I needed to call you." Toby inched closer. "I had my finger on the call button, half-ready to take whatever you wanted to say to me, if you'd just reassure me with stories of the many terrible things your kids have said and done to each other."

"You mean like when Lizzie fed Kathleen's English essay through the paper shredder?"

"Yeah. Like that."

"I've got hundreds of stories like that."

"You wouldn't have taken my call."

"No."

Toby shuffled back, and pretended to be absorbed in finishing the focaccia. Elliot watched the muscles of his arms flex as he brushed oil over the top and sprinkled herbs. He wanted to step up behind him, reach around and feel them, let his hands run down Toby's arms from elbow to elegant fingers. And then he thought about where Toby's hands had been lately, and he didn't want to touch him at all. He waited for Toby to wipe his hands before he asked, "Have you been to any clubs since...?"

Toby looked him in the eye. "No. I haven't been with anyone else. I don't want anyone else."

The force of the declaration settled in Elliot's gut. He wished his mind was as trusting. "And the rest?"

"No alcohol. No drugs." He wiped his hands again, dumped the towel on the counter. "I can't say I'm not tempted by those."

"But you haven't." Elliot was too much of a coward to ask about dresses and make up and high heels.

"I've been baking. At this rate I'm going to end up replacing alcoholism with diabetes." He laid a piece of plastic wrap over the top of the bread and turned on the oven. "That'll need another fifteen minutes to rise."

"And you're seeing Beth."

"Every week."

Elliot had been back to the one counsellor twice, now. Judith was older; she'd served in the army as a psychologist, and she'd won Elliot over the moment she folded her arms across her chest and snapped, "Bullshit." She'd managed to draw a little of Toby out of him.

He started collecting the dishes and filling the sink, not ready to have nothing to do. Toby was quiet, and Elliot wondered if he was-

"I was looking for him when I started with you. I'm not looking for him now." Toby stood close behind him, speaking quietly. It raised the hairs on Elliot's arms, settled in his groin. Elliot's body knew what it wanted.

He didn't want to forgive Toby. He didn't want Toby to believe that what he'd done was forgivable. Elliot didn't know what he'd do if Toby touched him. He picked up the sponge and put his hands in the suds so he wouldn't have a choice. "Agent Taylor said he wiped out the Aryan Brotherhood in Oswald for you."

"You saw Taylor?" There was an edge of panic in Toby's voice, and it wasn't denial. Taylor was right. Keller did it. Elliot wondered if Taylor knew more of Toby's secrets.

"We ran into each other at the court house. He seems to think I was the one who pushed you to talk to him." He rinsed a measuring cup and put it in the drainer. Elliot wondered what secrets Toby hadn't let out.

Toby moved beside him where he could see Elliot's face, or maybe so Elliot could see his. "Chris said he'd found a way to keep me safe. I thought he meant he'd blackmailed them, threatened them, done a deal - I didn't know, I was angry, I wasn't listening. But then he was dead, and suddenly we were all being bussed out and word came through that all the Aryans in the mailroom were gone. He set me free, in his own fucked-up way." He let out a little huff. "I was trying to tell him to leave me alone, that I was tired of all the death, and he was orchestrating mass murder. If all the rest of his crimes weren't monstrous enough for you."

Serial murder was monstrous enough. Wiping out the Aryan Brotherhood... Elliot could split hairs about love and obsession, but he couldn't deny Keller had felt something for Toby. Mass murder - for Toby. How was Toby supposed to feel about a man who tore him from his family, and then killed eight men to protect him? How could the simple affection of a law-abiding cop with a family to take care of compare? Elliot put the last bowl on the rack and let the water out of the sink, accepting the towel Toby offered. "Cragen cleared me to go digging into that parole officer's financials. Looks likely he's been taking bribes as well. If I can take his legs out that way, it might make it safer for our guy to testify."

"If he's raping one parolee-"

"Then we're sure there are more. Olivia and I have put together a list of likelies, but we don't want to approach them until we've got more to offer."

Toby nodded in approval.

"I want to ask..."

He saw how Toby braced himself, which was fair enough. Not a lot of good conversations had started that way, recently.

"Did any of the COs ever hurt you?" Elliot didn't have much choice with the prisoners, but if an officer of the law abused Toby, Elliot wasn't going to hold back no matter what Toby said.

The pause was too long. "None of the screws laid a hand on me other than doing their jobs."

"I don't know what you're saying."

"There are always a few stray punches when you're fighting them on the way to the Hole. I landed a few punches of my own."

The answer had been too careful, and Toby hadn't met his eyes. Toby turned away, set the frypan to heat as he unwrapped a couple of steaks and dug out the rest of his cooking supplies.

Elliot wasn't ever going to breach all of his secrets. It was always, always going to be secrets and lies, and what kind of future was that?

Toby pressed the steaks into a plate of spices. "You like it rare or medium-rare?"

Elliot caught Toby's elbow, turned him around. "Tell me something true. Tell me one thing you don't want me to know."

Toby stared at him for a long time, and then his eyes darted around the kitchen before coming back to Elliot's. "I killed Vern."

Elliot stepped back, wishing he could un-hear that. Surely Toby wouldn't openly confess murder to a cop, put Elliot in that position?

"It was an accident. Sort of."

"What does that mean?"

Toby turned away and threw the steaks in the pan, watched them sizzle. "It happened after I went back in. I was playing Macduff. Vern was Macbeth. We played out the fight scene, Chris had switched the prop knife for a real one, and I stabbed Schillinger right there on stage, in front of everyone."

Elliot was speechless.

Belatedly Toby looked back over his shoulder. Calm and serious. "I didn't know. Chris didn't tell me."

He flipped the steaks, started fussing with onions and potatoes, laid out a couple of dinner plates. 

When he still didn't get a response, he added, "That's why all the Aryans wanted to kill me. That's why Chris took out the mailroom."

Finally Elliot blurted, "You put on a fucking play with the man who murdered your son?"

Toby frowned, like he didn't expect that to be the part that Elliot seized on, and then shrugged. "It passed the time."

They put on a play. Toby and Vern Schillinger and Christopher Keller.

Toby paused, tongs over the steaks. "You don't care that I killed Schillinger?"

"You said you didn't know about the knife."

"I didn't."

Maybe Elliot needed to care, a little. He was a damned cop. "Was there an investigation?"

"Yes. They concluded it was an accident."

"But it wasn't."

"No. It was Chris. I kept my mouth shut about that, too." He pulled out the steaks and threw the onions in to fry.

So it wasn't murder, and Toby was legally cleared, and Elliot wasn't going to shed any tears for Vern Schillinger. Relief that he didn't have choose whether to arrest Toby made his knees weak. No, Elliot wasn't going to lose sleep over just desserts, but he wasn't ever, ever going to understand Toby pulling on tights for a Shakespeare festival with Gary's killer. Elliot grabbed salt and pepper for the table, just to get out of the kitchen. He wasn't ever, ever going to understand the man Toby was in Oswald.

Elliot lingered at the table, listening to the sounds of Toby dishing up. There was nothing for him here unless he could split the two apart, leave the convict behind and hold on to the man he knew.

Toby carried out the bread, so Elliot helped shuttle out plates and then they took their seats.

Toby sipped his soda. How are your kids?"

Thank god for Elliot's kids, the Switzerland of conversation. Just the tone to set for dinner. The twins had started seventh grade, and were liking school about as much as anybody did at that age. Elliot was pretty sure Kathleen was still drinking, but she was getting better at hiding it. Maureen had been extra attentive since Elliot made it clear Toby was over, but Elliot skipped over that. Toby chatted about Harry, sounding more confident than he used to.

For a while it almost felt like before, two fathers sharing their worries. Almost - now there was the weight of distance between them, and Holly was noticeably absent from the conversation. Elliot caught himself smiling, once or twice, and each time he hoped Toby didn't take it as a sign everything was okay between them.

They ate their steaks and didn't talk any more about Chris, or Oswald, or Toby dressing up and trawling Franco's for men to abuse him.

They didn't talk about how much Elliot missed Toby, how he wished he could say it didn't matter anymore and pull Toby into his arms, smell him and feel him. He didn't want anything spectacular. Just to hold Toby close and stroke his cock until Toby was clutching at his shoulders, making those soft, needy sounds and whispering how much he'd missed Elliot. Toby to do the same for him.

It could happen tonight. Even if Toby hadn't already made it abundantly clear that it was in Elliot's hands, those puppy dog eyes would have left no doubt. Elliot just had to decide he was over it. Could you do it that way? Just make a choice, and leave it behind?

"Holly got suspended from school."

It took a moment to process the words. They still didn't make sense. "She what?"

"Three days."

"Holly?"

"For smoking."

Elliot could feel his mouth hanging wide, but he couldn't do anything about it. "Holly?" There had to be a punch line.

"Yes, Holly." Toby put down his knife and fork. "That's something I didn't want you to know. Holly's barely talking to me and she was suspended from school for smoking, and I know she's still doing it but she's lied to my face, and I don't know what to do."

"Is she being bullied?"

Now Toby's mouth hung open. "How did you guess?"

"Big behaviour swings: there's usually something going on. Smoking's a classic way of putting on a tough shell for other kids." If it wasn't bullying at school, it was usually violence at home. Suddenly the steak didn't sit so well. "Do you know when she started?"

"At St Edith's. Holly says it's not bullying, so much as being ignored. Her classmates don't know what to make of her, so she's befriended some older girls."

Holly smoking cigarettes was absurd, and it made complete sense.

"I talked to their parents, and the principal; she said the other two girls are rebellious, but good-hearted. They'll be kind to her."

"And introduce her to alcohol and drugs that much sooner." Elliot would have laid down the law if he caught Lizzie running with those girls.

Toby rubbed a hand through his crew cut, looking like a man who'd already lost sleep over that. "I know it's a danger, but I can't cut her off from the only two friends she has."

They talked about Holly's new friends and her sliding schoolwork and Toby's fears that she'd follow in his addictions and the perils of trying to control teenagers, and now, now it felt like old times. An honest conversation, right up until Elliot's phone rang.

"Sorry." Elliot stepped away from the table and picked up. "Stabler." Toby disappeared to the kitchen, reappearing with foil as Elliot hung up. "I've gotta go."

"New case?"

"One of my witnesses is in hospital." He quickly downed the last few bites of steak. "At least it wasn't half an hour ago."

"Take some bread with you." Toby cut a chunk of the loaf into pieces and wrapped them.

"Thanks." Elliot had a feeling half of it was going to end up in Olivia's hands. He rolled down his sleeves and pulled on his jacket.

Toby followed him to the door, caught Elliot's cuff as he went to step out. "Tell me what you need from me."

Elliot wished he could. If he knew what he needed to trust Toby again, they'd be fixed by now. "Can you honestly tell me I wouldn't be better off walking away?"

Toby lowered his eyes. "No. There's no one in my life that wouldn't be better off without me in theirs."

"I think Holly would disagree."

"She doesn't know any better."

"I'll bet your mother would tell you she needs you. And maybe Harry doesn't know it, but he needs you too."

Toby nodded, only half-convinced.

Elliot squeezed the door handle. "Maybe I do."

The hope in Toby's eyes was too much.

Elliot stepped back inside, closed the door. "These last couple of weeks, I've been waiting for something to drag me here. I caught myself secretly hoping you'd have some kind of emergency or Maureen would interfere or... I don't know. Some excuse, so I wouldn't have a choice. That I'd come home and find you on my doorstep one day, asking me to give you another chance and not taking no for an answer. I've been running on rage and I'm screwing things up with Kathy and the kids, pushing Olivia and the captain to the ends of their patience, but I still fucking miss you."

Toby laid a hand on his cheek, and it was like he knew exactly how to raze Elliot's defences. Elliot pressed his face into Toby's palm, found his own hand sliding up Toby's shoulder, thumb tracing that delicate collarbone.

"Tell me I mean something to you. Me, not him." Elliot's voice was rough. He was tired of hearing what it was that made Toby love Chris.

Toby edged closer, eyes shining. "It wasn't him I was desperate to call when I found out Harry would have preferred I was dead. He isn't the one I was wishing would drag me by my ear out of that club. He isn't the one I miss at night. Not anymore." Another four, three, inches, and they'd be kissing. "You don't know how much I miss talking to you. Or even just knowing I can."

"Yeah, I do." Elliot swallowed. "That's all you miss? The talking?"

Toby's gaze dropped to Elliot's lips. "You want to hear about how I miss the sex?"

"Is there any difference? Same body, same face; it's like a two-for-one fantasy."

"You're nothing like Chris in bed. Every touch, I know it's you."

Because Elliot's fumbling was so different to Chris's confidence and charm? He almost didn't care. If Elliot just let himself close the gap, would that be it? Fixed? "What the hell is wrong with me, that I still want you after all the lies?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting someone." The pleading tone cut.

"Fool me once..."

Toby's hand slid to Elliot's shoulder and squeezed. "Forgiveness isn't a flaw. It isn't a weakness." A thumb stroked Elliot's cheek. "Haven't you ever needed forgiveness more than you deserved it?"

"I'm trying, Toby."

Toby did it. The first touch of his soft lips against Elliot's snatched his breath away and Elliot caved, chasing after him to brush their mouths again. Feather-light but it set his whole body alight. Kiss after kiss, never more than lips and breath but that familiar taste was a feast to a starving man. Longing climbed over Elliot, seized him harder than it had since he first stormed out of here. He slid his hand up through Toby's short hair, loving the way it brushed his palm. He wanted to strip Toby's clothes and rediscover him inch by inch.

But Carly Stein was in the hospital, and he had to go.

Elliot stole one last taste and eased off, pressed Toby back. "I have to go to work."

"I know." Toby touched his lips, looking shell-shocked. Was that how Elliot looked? "Tell me I'll see you soon."

He was supposed to say 'No,' or 'That was a mistake,' but Elliot wished like hell he didn't have to leave at all. He nodded, and forced himself out the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

These phone records were putting Elliot to sleep. It was the memory of kissing Toby last night keeping him awake. Every time he tried to berate himself for weakening, it was forgotten under the warm blossoming pleasure filling the space that had been aching these last two months. And his stirring cock. Hard to ignore that.

"Found anything?" Olivia dropped into her chair, and Elliot flipped the page guiltily. He wasn't making any progress at all. "You're getting cross-eyed. Take a break. You need some time in the crib?"

"Nah." Elliot rubbed his neck. Sleep sounded great, but a nap would wipe him out. Food. Food would help. "Get anything new from O'Halloran?"

"A couple of prints. They're not in the system."

He checked his watch. 11:30 - close enough to lunch. He unwrapped his focaccia and took a bite, pausing when he felt Olivia's gaze. He passed the rest of the packet over.

She took it and peeked inside, smelled it. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"It's focaccia, not a secret code."

"Toby made it."

"Yeah." He knew he was being obtuse.

"Does this mean you're back together?"

He didn't like the concern in her eyes, but he deserved the reminder. "We're... seeing where things go." He shouldn't have let Toby kiss him. All day he'd been kicking himself, except when he'd been reliving it. Getting hard thinking about it. He'd wanted Toby to hold him and keep telling him all the ways he chose Elliot over Chris. He'd wanted to just believe everything Toby said and forget the rest.

She put on a smile and lifted her slice of bread, passing the rest back. "I'm being completely selfish, here, but I think you should stop seeing where things go and make sure they go well."

"Maybe you should find someone who cooks."

"I'd settle for finding someone."

He wished she would. It was ridiculous that a woman like Olivia couldn't find someone to settle with. Men were idiots.

"Did you find any numbers with a 914 area code?"


	42. Domesticated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 41, Focaccia:  
> Elliot came over to watch Toby cook steak and focaccia, almost like the old days. (With gratuitous tie-tuck.) Toby confirmed that Chris mass-murdered Aryans for him. He also confessed to killing Vern, but Elliot thought putting on a play with the guy was a bigger WTF. As Elliot got called to work, Toby did a final push for forgiveness and Elliot cracked like an egg, and they kissed, and it was good.  
> Olivia had her concerns, but she'll throw Elliot to the wolves as long as he comes back with a doggie bag.

"No, I understand." The green light brought a swarm of pedestrians, and Toby dodged his way through, his lunch tucked under his arm.

"I'm sorry, Toby-"

"Stop apologising. Go and catch bad guys." Toby hung up and slid the phone back in his pocket, clutching his jacket tighter against a gust of wind as he hurried down the sidewalk. His high from kissing Elliot hadn't been touched by the first cancellation, and it had only dimmed a little with the second. Three times... Three was cold feet. Toby shouldn't have pushed him. He was back to square one.

He dodged around a pile of trash cans and looked up and sighed. Elliot would choose to cancel dinner as Toby passed by a wine store. The midday sun shone on great glass windows full of shining glass bottles with inviting labels. Toby had almost forgotten how a good Merlot tasted. He closed his eyes. A little plum; a little violet. Spices that lingered on the palate. No, he hadn't forgotten.

Nobody was going to be home tonight. No Elliot. Holly was at Kelly's, as usual.

He took a long breath. As good as it sounded, the urge wasn't overwhelming. He wasn't going to drink. He pushed on around the corner.

This was the new Toby, which meant if Elliot needed time, Toby was going to give it, and instead he could use the time for his kids. He'd been thinking of baking some cookies to send to Harry. Or he could push on with Holly's book: he'd decided to read whatever she was reading so he could prod more conversations out of her, but this one was testing his resolve. So much sighing and fainting and damsel-rescuing, it was like one of his mother's romance novels with wimpy vampires thrown in.

He wasn't going to sit around and stew about Elliot, because then he'd remember to feel guilty that he was still obfuscating significant details of his years in Oz. No, Elliot, none of the hacks laid a hand on me, but there was one who stood by and laughed as Vern Schillinger stomped on my legs. And the first thing I did when I got out of hospital was slice his face and his throat with my bare hands. Want to make love now, Elliot?

At this rate it would never matter. Elliot was going to keep postponing Toby until he stopped calling altogether. Toby sat on his usual bench. He was going enjoy the wind blowing leaves around the park, eat his sandwich, and go back to work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The loft was filled with modernist sculptures that probably cost more than Elliot's car and you could see across the Hudson to New Jersey from the kitchen the uniforms were searching, but Elliot couldn't tear his eyes away from the massive print on the living room wall: a six foot high photo of a man in a sparkling gold dress that barely covered the distinct bulge of his crotch. The subject was standing with his bright blue high-heeled boots planted wide to show off muscular legs that Elliot was pretty sure had been waxed. The same bright blue was painted over his eyes and on long blue fingernails that were brushing back a ludicrous blonde wig as he blew a kiss at the camera.

He couldn't help seeing Toby up there, and it was making his balls crawl up inside him.

"I wonder where I can get a pair of boots like that," said Liv, appearing from nowhere.

Elliot sucked in a breath. He hadn't realised he was staring. At the six foot high photo of a drag queen. "Toby never wore a dress."

Olivia looked at him, startled. "You think I'd care if he did?"

"He didn't wear a dress. That's not the guy I know. That time in the meatpacking district... That's the only time I saw him like that."

"Why does it matter?"

Because Elliot didn't want Olivia thinking of him that way. Or thinking Elliot would get turned on by it. He hated himself for saying it, felt the shame burning in chest, but he didn't want anyone to suspect for a moment that Elliot pranced around in women's clothes, or wanted that from Toby. "Let's go talk to Cruz."

Olivia let it drop, thank god. "He's through here."

Elliot almost wished that was how Toby had dressed up. That photo was a whole different world to Toby hunched in the back of the squad car, crawling inside make up and clothes and bruises to blot himself out of existence. Elliot didn't want Olivia to think of Toby like that, either.

He'd been avoiding Toby, again. He'd thought the fire from that kiss would burn away the churn of anger and humiliation, but Keller kept crawling into his thoughts at odd moments, staring out from the eyes of a perp or shoving his way into the picture when Elliot thought of Toby at night. The hope, the hate, all of it was still sloshing around in his gut. He wanted Toby but it couldn't start like this.

Olivia led the way through to the office where a gym-chiselled guy with black slicked-back hair was scowling at the police rifling through his files. His glare sharpened when he saw her. "This is a load of crap."

"Is it?" Olivia gave him her best plastic newsreader smile. "I guess we'll find out. This is my partner, Detective Stabler."

Cruz was pacing the room, glaring at everyone and pumping his fists, desperate to tear all the cops off his stuff. It was the sort of itching restraint Elliot knew too well. Not a lot of people told this guy what to do. "Eddie's just upset about our fight. He'll drop the charges."

Olivia didn't miss a beat. "Edward's upset that you raped and beat him."

He rolled his eyes. "Why would I need to rape him? I've been fucking him for months! We have one little scrap and the little bitch is running off to the cops."

Edward hadn't called the cops. Cruz's neighbour had, and a little digging had them wondering what had happened to Cruz's last toy boy, who hadn't been seen in six months. It had taken Olivia and Elliot most of the morning to persuade Edward to press charges so they could get the warrant.

"Eddie and I love each other."

"Is that what you call it?" Olivia cocked her head. "I'll tell you a little secret. You don't hit people you love."

Elliot bit the inside of his cheek.

"Couples fight, lady."

"You don't rape someone you love."

Cruz laughed as he looked Olivia over. "Rough is what men like, Detective Benson." He purred it, sliding into her space so he could loom over her. Olivia stood her ground, unimpressed. "Straight men have to pretend to be domesticated for wives and girlfriends like you. Bring flowers and make vows and treat women like glass in the bedroom but that's not what men want. That's the great thing about being gay. We don't have to pretend. We can just fuck. Whoever, whenever. We all just want to put our dicks inside something tight and hot and pound away until we come." He turned his attention. "Are you domesticated, Detective Stabler?"

Completely. Getting more domesticated with every word he said. Elliot jutted out his chin and looked him in the eye, matching his macho. "Is that how Eddie treats you?"

"I fuck him."

Elliot lifted his shoulders, cocked an eyebrow. "Apparently he doesn't like the way you do it."

The pair of them bared their teeth in hard grins and faced off. Beneath the designer suits and the snappy wit, behind the closed doors of his fancy Chelsea loft, Elliot knew exactly who this guy was. He was the sort of guy who'd punch his lover. 

"I like him," Cruz told Olivia.

"I'll bet you do." She squeezed an edge of contempt in her voice. Elliot knew she was playing along, supporting his rapport with Cruz, and she had no idea how it cut. He was more like Cruz than she imagined.

And nothing like him.

Elliot rolled his eyes at Olivia for Cruz's benefit, played the role, but he wouldn't ever see Toby the way Cruz saw other men. He didn't want to treat Toby like a hole to put his cock. He didn't want to pound away. He got off making Toby feel good. He wanted to make Toby to feel worthwhile, remind him that he deserved better than the choices he'd made in the past. Every screwed up thing that Elliot had learned about him these last few months hadn't changed that.

When he remembered the way Toby looked after that kiss, he couldn't regret it. It made him want to just let all of it go.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You look exhausted."

Elliot's tie was loose, top button undone, grey shirt creased like he might have been in it for a day or two. He yawned as he slid into the booth. "Long night. You look pretty tired yourself."

"I never sleep as well when Holly's away." Not unless Elliot was sprawled beside him.

Toby had been ready to give up when Elliot cancelled yesterday, had tossed and turned and cursed himself until Elliot called early this morning to say the captain was finally sending him home, and did Toby want to meet up for breakfast?

Of course he did. He was going to hang on Elliot's every mood swing until Elliot came back or walked away for good. "You worked all night?"

"We were just clocking off when a call came in." He stared in surprise as the waitress served up two plates crammed with waffles and eggs and bacon.

Toby pushed the syrup at him. "I took the liberty of ordering, figured you'd be hungry."

His eyes glowed at the food, and then he turned a smile on Toby. "God. Yes. Now tell me about something that doesn't involve grieving parents or One Police Plaza."

That smile was Toby's new heroin. It had taken months to forgive Chris for betraying him to Schillinger, and that was in the slow creep of prison time, with Said preaching forgiveness in his ear, with a confession and a stabbing and a fight with the Aryans to even the score. Toby had nothing like that to offer, so all he could do was wait. If Elliot needed to eat out at a diner, where there was no danger of anyone kissing anyone else, then Toby was going to have to be okay with that.

A few weeks ago he wouldn't have hoped for this much. Waffles and eggs and making Elliot smile as he talked about Emilio having to break up a fight between buyers at an auction earlier in the week. Watching Elliot's tongue dart out to catch the pancake syrup glistening on his lips

Toby wanted to reach across to touch Elliot's thigh, slide his hand up and see if he could still make him hard, but that could wait. Toby wasn't going to push him again, even if sometimes Elliot's gaze seemed to linger. It was probably wishful thinking. Toby had gone back to get tested for STDs, just on the outside chance.

They took their time with breakfast: slow, ordinary conversation like they hadn't had since the summer. Elliot didn't talk as much, but he seemed happy to listen, so Toby made him chuckle with a summary of all the worst highlights of the godawful vampire book he'd read cover to cover to keep up with Holly. Elliot wiped syrup from his chin and crumpled the napkin in his hands, still grinning. "I may nominate you for father of the year. Was it worth it? Did you at least get a good bonding experience out of it?"

Toby huffed. "I brought it up at dinner on Wednesday, asked what she thought. She told me it was so horrible she gave up after twenty pages."

Elliot burst out laughing, and Toby watched, rapt. It was worth every page he'd read just for this.

When Elliot calmed, he sipped his hot chocolate. "How are things with her? How are those friends of hers?"

"We'll see. I'm getting to know their parents."

"You should have the kids over. Host a sleepover, get to know them. That's how Kathy knew all of our kids' friends."

Toby wasn't sure how those wealthy girls would feel about Holly's poky little apartment, or what their parents would say about a single father hosting. "Maybe." He could only imagine what they'd say about an ex-con babysitting their daughters.

They finished their plates and lounged back, both of them rubbing their bellies. Toby wanted to stretch this out, talk about anything that kept Elliot in view, but Elliot had worked all through the night and he was sitting in a daze. This was the perfect time to practise that patience Toby had been planning. He put a hand up for the check.

"Are you going to be all right to drive home?" Toby wanted to offer his bed for Elliot to sleep in, but didn't know how to make that not sound like an invitation for sex. It would be. If there was the slightest chance Elliot would let Toby spread him out on his bed, let Toby breathe him and taste him, then Toby would write the invitation on one of these napkins in his very best cursive.

Elliot blinked and refocused, picked up his cup and drained his hot chocolate. "I'm awake." He fished out his wallet to pay his half, and followed Toby out of the diner into the chilly morning.

Damp lingered in the air from rain in the night. Toby paused at the sidewalk, but Elliot kept walking, headed left. Toby didn't know if his car was parked this way or he was coming to Toby's apartment. Hope kept his cock half-hard in his pants; fear kept him quiet, eyes on the ground. He didn't want to screw this up.

Only a block to Toby's apartment, but the air was cool and sharp, and Elliot was within reach, their footsteps - faster than before - landing in time in the soggy leaves. Toby tugged his coat closer, scanning the parked cars for Elliot's blue Taurus, or anything that looked like it might be from the motor pool.

Elliot stuck with him all the way to Toby's stoop, steps slowing as they approached. Toby was searching for excuses to drag this out, trying to compose an unthreatening suggestion that Elliot come upstairs and sleep, when a hand caught his elbow. He looked up in surprise. Elliot's intense gaze made Toby's cock heavier.

"I want to come up."

"Are you sure?"

Elliot's fingers played over the buttons of Toby's coat. "Do you really want me to reconsider?"

"No." Toby wanted to kiss him, right here. He hurried up the steps, fumbled his key into the door.

That was what Elliot meant, wasn't it? 'I want to come up and kiss you,' or 'I want to come up and fuck you,' not 'I want to come up and talk about why you'll never see me again.' Toby looked back over his shoulder as they climbed the stairs, tried to interpret the top of Elliot's head, the angle of his shoulders, and then he tripped up the top step and Elliot reached for him, lightning reflexes.

"Are you all right?"

Toby breathed slowly, leaning shamelessly into the grip on his arm. "You tell me."

"Come on." Elliot nodded towards Toby's door, so Toby led the way in and closed it behind them.

"I've missed you, Elliot." Not Chris.

"I've missed you."

They stared at each other, the moment so serious it made Toby smile. As soon as he did Elliot stepped forward, smoothing his hands over the lapels of Toby's coat, and then reaching around to pull him closer. Leaning closer still. Toby could taste Elliot's breath on his tongue, feel the rough prickle of a chin in need of a shave. He ached to drag Elliot tight against him, let Elliot feel how badly Toby wanted him, but he waited, lips holding barely an inch away. This had to come from Elliot. Toby needed to know that Elliot wanted him.

Patience wasn't Toby's strong suit. "Tell me what you need."

A tongue tripped over Elliot's lips. "I want to touch you."

Toby reached up for the knot of Elliot's tie. Slowly undid it, slid it out of his collar and dropped it, right by the door. "Don't make me wait any longer."

And then Elliot kissed him, just how Toby wanted it. Hard mouth and grabby hands, heavy breaths and barely-contained growls, never breaking the kiss as he edged Toby towards the bedroom while shoving off Toby's coat and toeing off his own shoes, a few more steps and then he worked up Toby's long-sleeve shirt and undershirt in one bunch, dragging them up and over, snorted as he untangled them from Toby's ears. He dropped them on the floor and didn't argue when Toby stripped Elliot's coat and tossed it over the couch as they passed. He breathed a nervous chuckle when Toby fumbled with his buttons, yanked the shirt off himself and tossed it aside and then Elliot pressed Toby against the door jamb, bare chest to bare chest at last, and his hands dragged over Toby's body, feeling his ribs and rubbing circles on his lower back, pulling his hips close so Toby could feel his cock press. Elliot's tongue swept through Toby's mouth, and his teeth teased Toby's lip, and he only paused to mutter a 'yes' when Toby's thumbs flicked at the button of his fly.

Catharsis was making Toby's head spin like a first-class high. Contained desire, gentle hunger, safety. No games. Elliot was here because he wanted Toby, and Toby never, ever had to doubt that. He wished he could make Elliot feel the same. He unzipped him and slid his hands behind, pushing down the suit pants until he had two great handfuls of Elliot's tight ass.

He shoved Elliot's pants down and held him as Elliot stepped out of them and took off his ankle holster, eyes tracking from Toby's face over his body. A few steps further, and Elliot's hands were opening Toby's pants. Toby tried to kick them off and lost his balance, realised he'd forgotten his shoes as Elliot caught him and tumbled him onto the bed.

Toby laughed and Elliot grinned, and suddenly the desperation was broken. Toby lifted his feet in the air so he could reach to pull off his shoes and socks and pants, and when he was finally naked he rolled on his side, dragged his toes along Elliot's calf. "We have all morning." He dared to add, "If you're really here, and not planning to change your mind again."

Elliot stared into his eyes. "I didn't change my mind."

"Your job gives you plenty of opportunities to postpone conversations."

"You noticed that, did you?"

Toby just raised an eyebrow. He wasn't going to corner Elliot into lying that all those delays had been out of his hands.

Elliot cupped Toby's cheek. "I'm here now."

Toby kissed him hard, felt Elliot's fingers in his hair. He didn't deserve this but he was going to hold on so fucking tight. No more screw ups. He buried his face in Elliot's neck and breathed, not relaxing until Elliot's strong arms surrounded him. Just this was enough. Kissing and touching, letting their cocks ride the anticipation. Knowing Elliot still wanted him.

Elliot nudged his face out and pressed his lips to Toby's.

Toby lost track of time, in the warm haze of slow kisses and comfortable silences, half-hard but in no hurry to do anything about it. Elliot wanted him. Toby was going to make sure he didn't regret this.

Elliot kissed along Toby's sides, from his ribs to the points of his hip bones, sending a shiver through him. A line across the fronts of his thighs, tender patterns that seemed random until Elliot rolled Toby onto his stomach and let his lips drift over the place where a fist to his kidney had left him wincing for a week. These were all the places he'd been bruised that night. Only now Toby realised Elliot had started at the side of his mouth, at the long-healed split, lumping his own damage in with everything left by the men of Franco's. Toby rolled over and pulled him close, wished he could explain how different-

There was a thunk and Toby sat bolt upright, brain not catching up until he heard-

"Dad?" Shit. 

He jumped out of bed and snatched a pair of shorts out of the drawer, threw a second pair at Elliot and yanked on a t-shirt, grateful that panic had wilted him. He yanked on sweatpants as well, would have thrown on a jacket and scarf to cover himself if he had time, but as he stepped into the doorway he realised how ridiculous he was being. Holly was standing inside the front door, in a pile of men's clothes that led all the way to the socks at Toby's feet.

"What's he doing here?"

Toby looked back over his shoulder but Elliot was still on the bed, sheet in his lap, frozen like a sprung teenager.

Holly snatched up Elliot's tie. "He hit you!"

Toby flinched, knowing Elliot heard that. He started collecting clothes, not bothering to sort it, filling his arms all the way to the tie Holly was clutching. He tugged it, but she wouldn't let go. "Give me a moment, okay?"

"He hit you," she said urgently, like he might have forgotten, which he almost had.

"I know." He pulled the tie out of her hand. "Let's get him out of here and we'll talk about it." He fetched Elliot's shirt off the lamp. When Toby came back to dump the clothes in a pile on the bed, Elliot had broken his paralysis enough to rub his face. "You should probably go."

"She's right," Elliot said quietly. "I hit you."

"Yes, but let's not stack it up against all the things I need you to forgive me for right now, okay? We both know how that balance sheet adds up." He put a knee on the mattress and leaned in to kiss Elliot, and then pressed their cheeks. "I'll sort this out. Don't think I'll let you go now."

Elliot nodded against him, and Toby left him to dress.


	43. Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 42, Domesticated:  
> Elliot was avoiding Toby. Again. But Toby didn't drink!  
> Elliot felt the urgent need to reassure Olivia that the whole Toby cross dressing thing was an aberration. Olivia was all, 'Whatever.' Elliot and Olivia chatted with a suspect who treated his lovers like crap. Elliot identified a little, but not completely. He wanted to be a better man that that.  
> Elliot stopped avoiding Toby, and met up for breakfast. Toby approached it as an exercise in patience, and tried to send him home, but Elliot had decided it was time to just let things go and come upstairs. Nakedness ensued, and plenty of kissing, and then Holly came home. Holly was less pleased by the reunion than you lot. Toby collected up the trail of clothes and shooed Elliot out, to deal with it.

Toby herded Holly into her room so Elliot could make a discreet exit - as much discretion as was left to them, at least - and pretended not to notice the poison she was glaring towards his bedroom. Putting Holly and Elliot in a room together had seemed like such a pipe dream, he'd never thought to worry about how it might turn out. "I didn't expect to see you today."

Elliot had probably worried about it.

"Really?" Sarcasm from an eleven-year old. She pulled off her jacket and dumped it over the desk chair. "Aisha had to go to her aunt's. Why is he here?"

Toby left the door cracked. It wouldn't hurt Elliot to hear some of this - his side, anyway. "We made up." He sat on the end of her bed.

"He hit you!"

"I know. You saw the last part of a terrible, awful fight, and we were both wrong."

She stood with her hands in fists, five feet of blonde-haired fury. "I don't know how you can forgive him!"

She really had no idea what kind of man Toby was. "Because I killed a child, and I still hope that her parents will forgive me one day. Because I need you and your brother to forgive me for abandoning you when I went to prison." He pulled her closer to sit beside him and hugged her, kissed her head. "I wish your mother could have forgiven me. I've made so many mistakes, Holly. What right would I have to ask forgiveness of anyone if I couldn't forgive Elliot one moment of temper after I hurt him very deeply? It's easy to hold a grudge when you're eleven; you haven't made any terrible mistakes yet. By the time you reach my age, grudges are just... hypocrisy."

"What if he does it again?"

"He won't."

"He might."

"He won't."

"You can't trust him."

"I have to. The same way he has to trust me, that I won't lie to him again." He knew who had the best odds in that exchange. "I care about him, Hol. I miss him."

She pulled out of his arms and turned to face him, looking very serious. "You let people treat you however they want because you feel guilty for everything but it's not fair. You went to prison for that little girl. That was enough. Gary died, and that's too much. And I know that being away from us hurt you just as much as us, so you have to stop feeling bad about that."

"Hol..."

"And what Mom did was worse than anything you ever did and I hate her so I don't care about that."

"Holly!"

She shoved off his attempt to hug her. "Stalin had no right to treat you like a bad little kid and Harry has no right to say the things he does and Elliot didn't have the right to hit you!"

"I never said he had the right. I said I forgave him."

"I won't! Ever!"

"Fine." Arguing now would just make her dig her heels in harder. Stalin, Harry, Elliot: all of them had reasons, but that wasn't a lesson he wanted Holly to absorb. Maybe there was something for her here, but it took all his courage to say it past the lump in his throat. "And you don't have the right to cold-shoulder me for trying to be a father to Harry."

She opened her mouth and jammed it shut again.

"You know damn-well how much I love you, Holly. You know damn-well you don't have to act up to have my undivided attention." He swallowed. "We still haven't talked about what happened in San Diego."

"I don't want to talk about Harry."

"Can we talk about your mother? You're still angry at her for dying."

Holly narrowed her eyes. "She didn't just die."

"For killing herself. Me too. I'm still angry."

That surprised her. He could see it rolling around in her head. "Gary and I found her in the car. She looked like she was asleep, but she wouldn't wake up."

"I know. Grandmother told me. I'm still angry about that, too. But somebody reminded me that she'll never get to see you grow up." He smoothed a hand over her hair, following all the way to the end of her braid, and felt that same squeeze he'd felt in his heart the first time he'd seen her ecstatic grin welcome him home from Oz. "Being away from you and your brothers was the worst thing about prison, but in the end I got to come home. I have you now. When I remember that, I don't feel angry anymore. I just feel sorry for her."

Holly's arms slid around him, and he pulled her up into his lap, held her tight. At moments like this, it hard to feel anything but pity for Genevieve.

"She did a terrible thing, Holly, but there was more to her than that one mistake. I remember how happy she was decorating your nursery. I remember her holding the family together when I was on trial. I remember the zoo."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot had just let himself in the door when Toby rang. Even that was enough to make his cheeks heat again. "Did you survive?"

Toby's warm chuckle echoed down the line. "I survived. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Elliot hated that he was embarrassed. He'd never held back on showing affection for Kathy in front of his kids. He'd had plenty of failings, but never that. But Holly wasn't his daughter, and the whole trail of clothes to the man she never expected to see again... And her repeated reminder that Elliot had hit Toby... And yes, even the gay thing. What felt perfectly natural in bed with Toby was something else altogether when they were caught at it by Toby's angry eleven year-old daughter.

He'd slunk out that door like a whipped dog.

Toby still sounded amused. "I guess that's the danger of Holly's newfound freedom on the subways. It might be time to get a chain lock."

Elliot tossed his keys on the counter and rubbed his face. "How angry is she?"

There was a telling lull. "I'm going to work on that."

Very angry. And more fearsome to Elliot than a seven-foot perp. But those perps didn't have the power to break this fragile new peace he had with Toby.

"Did you listen in?" The tone said Toby hoped he had, to Elliot's relief, that the door left ajar hadn't been an accident.

"A little." He switched the phone between his hands as he shrugged out of his coat. That little eavesdrop was what Elliot had been trying to hold onto for the drive home, instead of his worries. "I do forgive you."

Toby's breath out was loud. "Thank you."

"I will never hit you again."

"I know. I already forgave you."

"I know."

"I wish I hadn't had to kick you out."

"We've got time." It felt like they'd rushed back in, and Elliot wasn't sure that was the best idea, but right now he couldn't regret it. Not with his skin still tingling everywhere Toby had touched. He'd forgotten how it felt to let go of all the pressure, and he floated through to his bedroom, stripping off his hastily thrown-on clothes.

"When can I see you? Holly's at my mother's on Tuesday. We should probably give her some time before asking her to play nice."

Elliot wasn't sure ten years would be enough time. Holly had never forgiven anything of anyone, except Toby, and he was quite sure him assaulting Toby wasn't going to be the first. "Yes - no. I've got dinner with the kids." Elliot hesitated, but he'd feel stupid for keeping it secret. "It's my birthday."

"It's your fortieth! I can't believe I forgot!"

"Don't worry about it."

"We should do something."

"I'm too old for a fuss on my birthday."

"You can't ignore your fortieth!"

Elliot squirmed. Toby sounded as forced and awkward as Elliot felt. If not for their falling out, this birthday would have been a big deal. But things had gone to hell, and Kathleen and the twins still didn't know, and it was all too fresh to be telling them. Maybe next year, when there were no more doubts.

Was he really planning for a year from now?

"Let me know when you're free; I'll cook up something special."

Dinner for two had been special with Kathy, when most of their dinners were a chaos of hungry, fussy, fighting kids. With Toby it was another night in secret, no different to before. Elliot wasn't ready to be introducing his kids, but he wanted something to change.

"There's no rush," Toby said, sounding uncertain. "If you need more-"

"Could we have Olivia over? A dinner party?"

There was a beat of quiet. "Uh, sure. Are you sure?"

"That's what I want for my birthday." The kids could wait but Olivia already knew, and the last time she spoke to Toby he was just a questionable witness. A simple meal would go a long way to making this feel less like a shameful secret.

"Anything you want, El."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dickie came to the doorway, hands full of dirty plates. "It wouldn't kill you to help."

Kathleen shook her head. "Not a chance. Maureen and I cooked; you two clean; Dad doesn't do anything. That was the deal."

"We helped cook!" Lizzie yelled from the kitchen.

"I don't think licking the cake bowl counts as helping."

"Technically, I think that's cleaning," said Elliot.

Kathleen laughed as she stood. "I'm going to the bathroom. You two get the game board set up."

Elliot was glad he could still make her laugh. He rolled his head to look at Maureen. "Thanks. This was a really good birthday."

She took the lid off the box, started sorting out the pieces. "Elizabeth wanted to invite all your friends, make it a surprise party."

"Thanks for not doing that. I'd much rather just have family."

"I thought, maybe Olivia..."

"Maybe some other time. I'm sure she'd love to see you all. She asks after you."

Maureen looked around, as if to be sure they were alone. She was working up to something.

"Whatever it is, Maureen, just ask." Lizzie and Dickie were squabbling and banging dishes in the kitchen, but Kathleen would be back any minute.

She glanced towards the bathroom again. "How are you? Really?"

"I'm fine."

She gave him a sour look.

"Better." He wavered for all of two seconds over whether to tell her. "Toby and I are... We're working things out."

She beamed. "That's great, Dad!"

She thought that because she didn't know what went down. He wondered if she'd be more appalled by Toby's behaviour or his own.

"He really seemed like a nice guy. I wish he could have come tonight."

Resentment curled in his gut. "We're not ready for that." That's what he'd planned back in July. This birthday could have been something special, all Elliot's kids and Toby and Holly, maybe Olivia too, everyone he loved together, if Toby hadn't used Elliot as a stand-in for his rapist twin.

Elliot was glad to have Toby back, but maybe complete forgiveness might be a while coming.

"Are you going to tell them?" She waved towards the kitchen, the bathroom, just as Kathleen came out.

"Not yet, all right?"

Maureen started shuffling cards. "It'll be okay. We all just want you to be happy."

Kathleen gave them a strange look as she dropped into the armchair. "Did I miss something?" Elliot wasn't so sure about her. He wasn't so sure about Dickie and Lizzie, either, but that was what he wanted for his next birthday. To still be with Toby, and to have this all figured out with his family. He knew this year was going to be tough, but if he could have that twelve months from now, it would be worth getting through.


	44. The chicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 43, Forty:  
> After Holly caught Toby in flagrante delicto with Elliot, Toby tried to explain his philosophies on forgiveness and shared responsibility. She was not amenable. She'd pretty much had enough of Toby turning his other cheek to everyone, and Elliot remained on her shitlist.  
> Toby called Elliot, who was feeling awkward about getting sprung by Holly on a number of levels.  
> Elliot's birthday with his kids was all nice and family-ish, though Elliot wished Toby could have been there too, his life all sorted out instead of tentatively repaired. Maureen was happy her dad was getting laid again.

Toby shoved the chicken back in the oven hard enough to make Elliot wince. "We should have gone to a restaurant."

"Liv's been stealing my lunches for months. There's no way you would have gotten away with a restaurant."

"Happy birthday, Elliot, I'm giving your partner salmonella."

Elliot had offered to help when he arrived, but Toby just waved him off and burrowed through the pantry, muttering to himself. Elliot made a few half-hearted attempts to clean up around the chaos, but Toby's impatient sounds put a fast stop to that, so he edged back to the doorway and indulged in watching and making plans for when Olivia went home. Toby was freshly-shaved, with a red apron thrown over his shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up. He looked good, and all the whining and bitching just made Elliot wish he could have shown up earlier, gotten a little alone time with Toby to take the edge off. By the looks of the kitchen, he would have had to have shown up at 9am for that.

Elliot closed in and rubbed Toby's back, pulled him around to face him. "She's not going to judge you if dinner's not perfect."

He tossed the oven mitt on the counter and tugged at the strap of his apron. "I'm sure it won't be much next to being a junkie ex-con who dated a murderer."

Elliot's eyes dropped. "I haven't told her about Chris."

Toby stared in surprise. "You didn't tell her?"

Was he really shocked that Elliot wouldn't want anyone - especially Olivia - to know about that? "She saw those photos, knew it was... She knows you withheld information about another prisoner. That's all."

Toby dipped his head. "I thought I was pushing you to confide in her."

Yeah, well. Elliot hadn't been putting a lot of stock in Toby's opinions the last couple of months. "I didn't want to talk to anyone about that." Elliot wished Toby would stop bringing Chris up. It still brought the taste of rage in the back of his throat every time, and Elliot didn't want to have to reassure him that it was okay. It wasn't okay; it was just behind them. Elliot was ready to forget. "Don't stress about this. It's just Liv."

Maybe this was too soon. Maybe? Probably. They'd called each other almost every day for the past week, but between Elliot's job and all their kids, they hadn't seen each other. They'd had one hour in bed to make up for lost time, aborted when Toby rushed out of bed to calm Holly, and now they were hosting dinner like nothing had ever gone wrong.

The intercom buzzed, and Toby dropped a spoon. Elliot dodged past. "You clean that; I'll get the door."

Maybe Elliot was a hypocrite, blowing off Toby's nerves when he was this nervous himself. In truth, he needed Olivia to like Toby. He needed to trust her instincts, because he didn't completely trust his own anymore. He didn't know what he'd do if Olivia pulled him aside tomorrow to ask what the hell he was doing. Toby was a junkie. And an ex-con. He was a murderer. God knew what other secrets he kept. Any one of those things could come back and haunt them in one way or another, screw up Elliot's fragile relationship with Kathy and the kids, or destroy his credibility as a cop. He was trying hard not to think about it, but if Olivia was worried, she'd make him face it. He imagined Toby would guess that about her.

Elliot put out the plate of carrot and celery sticks on his way to open the door. Olivia was just stepping onto the landing, looking stylish enough for a first date in a light blue dress with her hair swept up, a clutch purse in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. He should have thought to warn her about that. "Hey."

Her gaze lingered on him as she came in. "What is it?"

"Would you mind if we skipped the wine?"

"Ah. Of course not-"

"Don't skip the wine." Toby appeared, reaching past him to take it. He'd taken off his apron and rolled down his sleeves. Neat and formal, like when he met Maureen. "Thanks for coming, Olivia. I'm not drinking, but that doesn't mean you can't. Do you want to open it now, or wait for dinner?"

Elliot looked back and forth between them. "We don't have to-"

"I'm not going to sneak off and chug it in the kitchen." There was a sharp edge behind the light tone.

Elliot swallowed. He hadn't been trying to make a fuss. Between her mother and Captain Cragen, Toby didn't need to worry about Olivia's judgement on a teetotalling alcoholic. Of all his addictions, that was the least of her worries.

"Dinner smells great," Olivia said cheerfully, passing her jacket to Elliot. "I've been looking forward to tasting your cooking firsthand for forever."

Elliot hung it up by the door. "Olivia thinks home cooking is when you stick a fork in the plastic top before you slide the frozen meal in the microwave."

She smiled. "It's true."

Toby just looked awkward. "Don't set your standards too high. The chicken's not ready; I had to put it back in."

"I'm sure it will be great."

"I'll just..." Toby lifted the bottle of wine, "put this in the kitchen."

Elliot prayed the whole dinner wasn't going to be this strained. Olivia didn't disguise that she was looking around, taking in the simple furnishings, the loaded bookshelves, all the photos. He wished he could read her mind. He waved his hand to offer a seat, and they settled on the couch. "Did you get an update from Munch?"

"He called to say no news as he was heading home. The doctor doesn't expect Turnbull will be conscious before the morning."

"It'll save us all some paperwork if he never wakes up."

"Yes, well, I'd rather be charging Deakin with assault than murder."

Elliot nodded. "I'd rather charge Turnbull with selling Deakin into prostitution. He could have stopped it." They talked work until Elliot realised Toby was still missing. "I'll just go see-"

"Go."

Having Olivia over for dinner had never been this quiet when Elliot lived at home. The dining table there was in the kitchen, so Kathy had always been part of whatever they were talking about while she cooked, and usually the kids had either been pelting Olivia with questions or bragging to her about whatever they'd been up to lately. Elliot could have disappeared from those dinners without anyone noticing.

"Hey. You okay in here?"

Toby was glaring into the cupboard. "I don't have any wine glasses."

"We're not fussy. We're cops; we're used to drinking out of styrofoam."

"So do you think I should serve up the Merlot in the Spongebob glasses or the Finding Nemo ones?" Toby snapped.

"Plain tumblers will be fine." Elliot reached over and pulled down two. "We'll open it when dinner's ready. Come out and sit down."

"I have to check the chicken."

"Timer says five minutes. Would you come out and be sociable for five minutes?"

Toby didn't move, so Elliot pushed him out of the kitchen. Toby sat in the armchair, and Elliot settled next to Olivia, who was munching on carrot sticks. "You have a lovely home, Toby."

"Sorry it's not really... Holly and I don't usually have guests, except Elliot."

"When I was a kid, I used to dream of having bookshelves like that."

Toby eyed the shelves. "I don't have much use for clutter these days, but I couldn't let go of my books."

There was a stilted conversation about knick knacks until the oven timer went off, and Toby shot to his feet. "I'll just..." He hurried to the kitchen.

Olivia grabbed herself another carrot stick.

 

The chicken wasn't cooked to Toby's usual perfection, but the Moroccan spice mix was delicious, and the potato, squash and cauliflower were excellent. Toby took their compliments with polite disbelief, but thank god, the conversation got less tense as they ate. Olivia made Toby smile, relating their first days working together in more detail than Elliot could recall. Maybe she was just making half of it up.

"You really thought I was that much of a prick?"

She pointed a piece of squash at him. "Elliot, you made mortal enemies of half of the 13th. We still have trouble getting their cooperation."

"They were assholes."

Toby snorted.

"But you got the guy. You were a good cop; I figured I'd give you a chance."

"Thanks."

Toby refilled their drinks, and Olivia raised her glass. "A toast to Elliot's birthday."

They clinked: two tumblers of red wine and a coke, and Toby and Olivia wished him a happy birthday.

"I forgot to ask: how was your birthday dinner with the kids?"

"Good. They came to my place and cooked."

Olivia looked him over. "Kathleen buy you that shirt?"

"Yeah."

"She's got a good eye."

She was right. It was a perfect fit, and in between all the griping Toby had managed to tell him the dark blue looked good on him. Elliot flapped the end of his tie. "This is from Lizzie."

"I could tell that, too."

He raised an eyebrow in mock-offence. "It's not that bad."

She buried her smile in her glass.

The tie was fine, just not Elliot's usual style. And not a good match for the shirt, but if your kids gave you clothes for your birthday, you wore them.

"What else did you get?"

"Maureen bought me a coffee machine. Dickie got me a bunch of DVDs."

Olivia glanced towards Toby, obviously wondering about his gift.

Toby pushed his chicken around with his fork. "Elliot said he didn't want anything."

"Toby and I both have enough stuff." There was a moment of awkward silence. Ditching gift-giving had seemed like a great idea on the phone the other day; now it sounded weird. "We were thinking of doing something together, instead." Toby had only vaguely mentioned the idea, but it sounded better than letting Olivia think Toby was cheap. This dinner was all Elliot had wanted.

Toby sipped his juice. "I think Elliot's going to drag me to some kind of sports event."

Olivia shook her head. "He's going to make you watch football."

"That's the one with the ball, right?"

Elliot let out his breath, relieved the humour was back. "I haven't been to a game in years." He'd love that: a good close game, with Toby's dry, snobbish commentary. It sounded like a perfect day out.

Olivia nodded up at the drawings on the wall. "Is that Holly's work? It's really good."

Score for Olivia. Toby smiled up at the three framed pictures - a horse, a dog, and a couple of chickens. "Those are her not-so-subtle reminders that she should have a pet."

"Might be hard to fit the horse up the stairs."

"She said she'd settle for a Shetland Pony until we move somewhere more convenient."

Olivia chuckled. "How is Holly?"

"She's good. She just started middle school."

"How's she liking it?"

Elliot saw Toby's fingers tighten on his knife and fork. "It's an adjustment. It's new, but she's smart. She'll be fine."

He made it sound like he wasn't especially worried, but even Olivia had to know that was a bare-faced lie. Every parent was worried when their kid was dumped out of cosy, familiar elementary school into the whirling chaos of middle school, and Holly's background had made it a hundred times more terrifying even before she fell in with the wrong crowd, took up smoking and got suspended. In her second week. Olivia didn't know about any of that, but Elliot was sure she could guess Toby had been fretting like crazy.

Elliot told him, "Lizzie and Dickie took a while to settle in last year. Now it's like they've always been there."

"Then I'm sure nothing could possibly go wrong with Holly."

Elliot paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, wondering if he'd misread the sarcasm in Toby's tone, but Toby was giving him a hard look, and Olivia was pressing her lips straight. He hadn't meant to imply...

Olivia helped herself to more vegetables, and piled the couscous high. "Where's Holly's school?"

"St Edith's. It's in Prospect Heights."

"Oh." Her eyebrow went up, and Toby stiffened. "That's a really nice school."

"You know it?"

Olivia looked at Elliot, and Elliot explained, "We questioned a couple of witnesses there a few years back."

"You never told me that."

"It didn't seem important. We were talking to witnesses, not investigating the school."

Toby stared at Elliot, reading his mind. Elliot hadn't said anything because he and Liv had both boggled at the money on display. Most of the time he forgot that Toby was rich, and he was sure it hadn't come up with Olivia. Toby didn't flash it around or spoil Holly, and this apartment was nice but it looked more 'financially comfortable' than 'old family money'.

Toby put down his knife and fork, planted his elbows on the table. "I'll bet she's the only kid in the school who knows her way into the visitors' wing of a prison."

A bad feeling settled in Elliot's stomach, but he smiled. "A school like that must have a couple of parents who've been done for insider trading." His smile faded when Toby didn't match it.

Olivia sipped her wine. "Elliot said you work in real estate?"

"Yeah."

"How did you get into that?"

"They were willing to give the job to a disbarred lawyer fresh out of prison."

Elliot rubbed his forehead. Olivia made that 'Are you for real?' face she was so good at, but like a professional she swept it away and moved on. "How are you liking it?"

"I imagine it's like you getting a job as a mall cop."

Elliot cleared his throat. "I think I'd go nuts."

"Well, I already had that covered." Toby stood and started gathering their plates, so Elliot reached for the serving dishes.

"I've got it, Elliot."

"Let me help."

"I've got it." Short and sharp.

Elliot put down the salad bowl and sat. He couldn't meet Olivia's eyes. He didn't know what the hell was going on with Toby, and he was trying hard not to be petulant that his birthday dinner was turning into an exercise in awkwardness. He'd thought Toby would be happy about having Olivia here. He was the one pushing Elliot to include her. Now here she was, and Toby was making every effort to seem like an ass.

"Elliot," Olivia said softly. He forced himself to look up, but she just nodded him towards the kitchen.

Yeah. He dropped his napkin on the chair as he stood and headed into the lion's den. He left the serving plates on the table.

"I told you I had it," Toby said, irritated, but quiet, thank god.

"The clean up's all yours, I promise." He leaned on the counter beside where Toby was wrapping up the extra chicken. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You've been prickly all night. Was this all a mistake? Are you upset Olivia's here?"

Toby scraped the plates. "Of course not."

He went for the salad and Elliot caught his hands. "Toby, stop." He pulled him around, clamping down on his irritation, mindful of Olivia sitting just ten feet away. "You weren't like this with Maureen."

Toby frowned at the floor. "She's a kid. I know how to talk to kids."

"You can't talk to grown women?"

He drew his hands away. "I spent eight years in prison. I'm not good with cops."

"I'm a cop."

"Yes, but when I first met you..." Toby trailed off, obviously wishing the words back.

"All you saw was Chris."

Toby held his gaze until Elliot looked away. Fucking Chris Keller.

Keller wasn't going to get in the way tonight. And Elliot wasn't going to let Toby play the ex-con for Olivia. Elliot needed Liv to see the man Elliot saw. Elliot peeked out to make sure she was at least pretending she wasn't trying to eavesdrop. "She's me, but prettier and more likeable. She's not here to interrogate you."

"Isn't she?"

"Does it seem like she is?"

Toby pushed the extra vegetables into a Tupperware. "So if you went to dinner with her new boyfriend, you wouldn't be sizing him up?"

Of course he would, but he wouldn't let Olivia catch him doing it. "I wouldn't dare. She'd have my balls."

"And if tomorrow, she asks you what the hell you're doing with me?"

If that happened, Elliot was in trouble. "She knows what I'm doing with you. She likes you."

Toby looked away. "What's to like? Besides the cooking, which wasn't anything special tonight?"

"Has this all been about the chicken?"

He banged down a dish. "It's not about the fucking chicken."

Elliot started to curse, and choked it back. He wasn't going to take the bait. Maybe it was just because Olivia was listening in, but he was going to channel the patience Kathy used to have with him. "Toby... You're smart, you're kind, you're great with Holly... Lots of things, but mostly she likes you because this year I've been smiling when I finish work, and she hadn't seen that in a long time." He could feel Toby softening. "Hold out through dessert, and we'll talk about whatever it is afterwards, all right?"

Toby didn't agree, but he didn't argue either. It was the best Elliot was going to get.

He rubbed Toby's back. "Can I help you clear the table?"

A pale smile. "Sure."

They cleared it together, while Olivia smiled and pretended she wasn't sitting in the middle of a domestic. Toby pushed Elliot to sit down again while he served up dessert.

When he came out of the kitchen, his hand was shielding the candle on a cupcake. "Sorry. I thought this was funny when I was making it. Now it just seems stupid." He put the cake in front of Elliot. Not just a cupcake: it was shaped like a detectives' badge, gold frosted with Elliot's number piped across the top.

Elliot laughed. "I love it. Thank you." He stood up and kissed him, didn't think twice about it until they parted and he saw Toby's baffled surprise. Glanced at Olivia, saw her crooked little smile.

He realised he hadn't touched him in front of Olivia all night. Is that what was going on? He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight until Toby squeezed him back, whispered a 'thank you' in his hair, and held him longer.

He blew out the candle and Olivia picked up the cupcake for a better look. "Cute." She eyed Elliot. "You're not having a birthday crisis?"

"No. Why should I?" He saw her look, and realised before she said it.

"I remember last year."

He'd been a son of a bitch around his thirty-ninth. "Last year was tough." Marriage in ruins, cut down to booking time with his kids, it had looked like everything was on a fast slide to hell. He hadn't imagined he was going to be happy on his fortieth.

She only said, "You're not feeling old?"

Toby smiled at the interplay. Elliot hadn't imagined him at all. "It's hard to feel like all the fresh new possibilities of life are behind me when I just started dating a man." He made a point of squeezing Toby's hand. Toby was a hell of a lot more attractive being bashful than sullen.

Toby edged his way out to the kitchen again, and brought out a salted caramel peanut butter pie that might have been the best thing Elliot had ever tasted in his life. It rapidly disappeared as Elliot and Olivia pieced together what they knew of Munch's ex-wives, until Toby was chuckling.

Olivia had three helpings and begged off soon after, looking like she regretted the third helping. Toby seemed genuine when he told her he wanted to do this again. He said goodbye and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Elliot to see her off at the door.

"Thanks for being kind to Toby."

She lifted an eyebrow. "What else did you expect?"

"That." But if she'd known more about what went down these last few months...

Olivia looked at him carefully. "Elliot, is there something I should know?"

Elliot didn't know how to ask her without sounding like an asshole. Without being an asshole. He chewed his lip, reached for something. "Toby was pretty terrified of what you'd think of him."

Olivia narrowed her eyes, seeing straight through him. "Seems like that's because he cares about you. If this was about getting my blessing, Elliot, you've got it. Just keep the leftovers coming."

"Thanks."

She paused on the landing. "And you were right. If I ever caught you sizing up someone I dated, I'd have your balls." She flashed a smile and headed down.


	45. Relatives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 44, The chicken:  
> Olivia came over for dinner, and Toby burned the chicken, and made every effort to seem like an unstable asshole. Possibly not the best way to deal with his fear that Elliot would rely on her opinion.   
> Elliot displayed impressive patience to bring him around. In an unselfconscious moment, he kissed Toby, and everyone's surprise made him realise that was unusual. (Not really, when you think about their first kiss, but you know what I mean.) By the time Olivia went home, she was perfectly in favour of the relationship. Or maybe it was just the pie.

Toby rolled up his sleeves. He sealed up the leftover cream and started filling the sink while Elliot saw Olivia out. He could hear the mumble of their voices and he wondered if Olivia was asking Elliot what in the world had possessed him to take up with Toby. It didn't sound stealthy or sharp, so maybe dinner hadn't been a total disaster. 

The front door closed and a few seconds later Elliot was tugging at his elbow.

"Just let me-"

"Fuck the dishes, Toby."

Toby reached for a handful of utensils but Elliot leaned around and caught his mouth, slow and persuasive, until Toby found himself with his back to the sink, hands on Elliot's waist. Elliot had his full attention.

"I'm sorry if I seemed distant tonight."

Toby leaned back. "You? I thought I was the one being a jerk."

"Yeah, kinda." At least he was honest. "But if you were being a jerk because I was being distant..."

Distant? Ah - that was why he'd kept touching Toby in the last half of the evening. Toby was glad he'd got past his mood, because he probably would have overreacted to that an hour ago. He played with Elliot's tie. "You think I was offended that we weren't making out in front of Olivia?"

"Well, no..." The squirm was cute.

"I don't know why you keep thinking I want you dancing in a pride parade." He bit his lip, watched Elliot's eyes drop. "Though if you ever want to pull on a pair of disco shorts and give me a private performance, I'd be okay with that." He wiggled his hips.

"Don't hold your breath." All macho and hetero, exactly the reaction Toby had been fishing for. It was sexy as hell.

Toby ran his hand down Elliot's tie, feeling that barrel of a chest. God, he'd missed it. "It was nice when you kissed me, but I wasn't waiting for it." It had taken Toby by surprise - how much it meant, as much as the kiss itself. That kiss, spontaneous and indifferent to the audience, told Toby Elliot wasn't going anywhere, wasn't even thinking of disappearing again. It had been the first moment in all these weeks that Toby trusted he was forgiven.

So right now Toby was happy enough that he didn't even mind Elliot's cop gaze, testing whether Toby was lying. Elliot relented, apparently believing him. "It was the chicken."

"It wasn't the chicken." What did it matter now, anyway? Except that Elliot wasn't going to let it go. "It was a little bit about the chicken."

"You thought she'd tell me to ditch you if you couldn't host a great dinner party."

"I think if she told me to ditch you, I'd be in trouble."

Elliot pulled his chin back. "This wasn't a test."

"All right." Why else would Elliot have wanted Olivia to meet him so soon, when he still wasn't sure what he wanted? Elliot's instincts had completely failed when he was getting to know Toby. "But did I pass?"

"Toby..."

"I get it. I can hardly blame you, can I?"

Strong hands squeezed Toby's elbows. "I'm here. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure."

"But you're not sure was a smart decision."

Elliot sighed, but Toby had noticed he couldn't outright deny it. "In spite of all your effort, she likes you."

Relief weakened Toby's knees. Now he was definitely going to have to keep her supplied with leftovers and baked goods.

Elliot slid a hand to cup the nape of Toby's neck. "She was here because you're both important to me, and it's past time you knew each other."

"I'm sorry I screwed up your birthday."

Elliot tugged Toby close, their bodies lined up toes to chests. "You didn't screw it up." Toby relaxed against him, letting his insecurities fade in Elliot's arms. Just happy to be back in these arms. Especially as they slid down, until hands were cupping his ass. "Anyway, the best part's still to come."

Toby closed his eyes. "Can I ask one favour?"

"You can ask." God, that growl...

"Let's get the kitchen clean."

Elliot dropped his head on Toby's shoulder. "Really?"

Toby turned his face into Elliot's neck. He smelled good, and it was tempting to just say fuck the dishes, get on with his plans to get back everything he'd lost and make this birthday something special. But Holly was going to beat Toby home tomorrow, and while Toby wasn't going to make it a secret that Elliot had been here, he didn't want to shove it in her face. "Think of it as foreplay."

"I like the taking your clothes off kind of foreplay," Elliot grumped, but he tucked in his tie, rolled up his sleeves and opened the dishwasher.

Toby watched him between scrubbing at pots. Rolling up his sleeves was a nice start. Elliot had great arms, smooth and strong, always a sure grip. And with that Marine tattoo there'd never been any doubt whose arms Toby was looking at.

Elliot rearranged the tumblers in the top rack, and Toby reminded himself to get a couple of wine glasses. His pre-Oz self would have been flabbergasted at anything less than a full cabinet with a range of red, white and dessert wine glasses, champagne flutes, whiskey tumblers, port sippers, martini glasses, shot glasses... A couple of stem glasses would be fine.

Elliot kept brushing by Toby like the kitchen was only a couple of feet wide, close enough for Toby to feel him smiling. Toby kept his poker face on, steadily rinsing and passing clean pots and utensils onto the drying rack. Elliot was almost irresistible when he was this confident and lusty, but Toby was going to hold out until the kitchen was done.

It helped that he was inexplicably nervous. Maybe not inexplicably. It had been so long, and the last time they had sex, Elliot had no reason to imagine Toby wearing a dress, or whoring himself through the shit-holes of Manhattan.

A hand on his hip and Elliot leaned around him, reaching for a cloth. "I'll just wipe down those counters." Warm breath left Toby's neck cool, and the imprint of cock against his butt left the rest of him warm. He washed faster.

The dishwasher was packed, the counters wiped, and Toby was up to his elbows in suds, just the last couple of dishes go to. Elliot pressed up behind him, rested his hands on his waist. "Why don't you leave them to soak?"

"I'll just be a few more minutes."

Elliot wiggled until his cock was wedged along the crack of Toby's ass, broad chest pressed across Toby's back, and Toby's hands stilled. "How many more?"

He couldn't help leaning back. "Five? Depending on how much you distract me."

Fingers played with Toby's belt, teasing towards opening it. "You don't mind if I start without you?"

Toby squeezed the scourer. "Elliot..." His ass ached to be filled by Elliot, right here, just like this. Braced against the sink, Elliot's lips against Toby's ear whispering sweet things as he pushed his cock carefully inside, working it deep.

"I want to unwrap my present."

Toby's belt was slowly unthreaded as he scrubbed determinedly at a burnt edge.

"You know how many weeks it's been since we had sex?"

"Ten." Ten long, long weeks.

Torturously slowly Elliot unzipped him, and then rested a hand low on his stomach. "You are reasonably sure Holly's not going to come stumbling through the door, right?"

"Reasonably." Her new subway rights didn't extend to the late night service.

"Good enough." At last, Elliot slipped his hand inside and cupped Toby's cock through his boxers, feeling the shape of it, and Toby tipped his head back on Elliot's shoulder. The familiar smell of him, those gentle fingers, were devastating. A man stroking your cock was completely different when you knew how to make him laugh, what kind of day he'd had at work. When he'd seen the miserable worst of you and he'd forgiven it.

A tea towel was dropped on his face, and Toby snatched it off to wipe his hands. Fuck the dishes. 

Elliot slid his other hand under Toby's shirt, rubbing circles on his stomach, and Toby wrapped his own hands around Elliot's wrists, following them up to the rolled sleeves, feeling the muscles flex as Elliot's fingers tightened, so good on Toby's cock. Beautiful arms. "I've missed you, Elliot."

"Missed you." Lips on Toby's neck, finding all the weak places, making Toby shiver and whimper as light fingers danced along his cock. "I've missed this. Do you know what I've been thinking about? I've been thinking about blowing you. Want to get to know you with my mouth, until I know every secret button you have." He gave a little twist with his hand, to show he was already learning, made Toby gasp. "Come on."

And then that hand was gone, wrapping around Toby's hand instead and tugging him towards the bedroom. God yes, Toby wanted to feel Elliot's wet mouth on him, watch his cock slide over those lips and know Elliot wouldn't do it for anyone else, but it seemed like it ought to be Toby on his knees tonight. Giving thanks, making amends.

Elliot flipped the switch and flooded the room with light before attacking Toby's shirt. In minutes they were naked and tangled together, and this time Elliot didn't just want to cuddle. He was fisting Toby's cock with a newfound confidence, smiling at all Toby's little moans and groans, kissing trails over Toby's chest and working his way down.

"Want to make you feel good." He looked up with dark, hungry eyes as he ran his wet tongue over Toby's stomach.

"Keep doing that." Just watching Elliot down there on his knees, Toby's cock bobbing in his face, was making Toby's balls ache. It should have been Toby down there doing this to Elliot, but he was too greedy to resist. Elliot had always seemed awkward when he did this before, working up the courage, but now he was eager, examining it like he wanted to start everywhere at once, looking up to meet Toby's eyes as he circled his tongue around the head and tested his slit, making Toby gasp.

"I know that secret button." He played there a while, making Toby writhe, and then kept going, lips and tongue and fingers everywhere, testing how deep he could take him and backing off to mouth Toby's balls, pressing Toby's twitching thighs wider. Like he'd been thinking very hard about blowing Toby, and couldn't wait to put his imagination to use.

Toby pushed his fingers through Elliot's buzz cut, struggling to keep his eyes open to watch the show. Which was how he saw Elliot pause to suck a finger before taking the head in his mouth, saw him reaching through before he felt him at his asshole, a gentle touch shoving him right to the edge. "Jesus, El, I thought..."

"World of difference between a gentle finger and a jamming a whole cock in there."

And it was gentle but Toby's ass gobbled it right in, and Elliot's mouth did magical things, and Toby's balls pulled up as he came, groaning an incoherent warning too late but Elliot held on, swallowing pulse after pulse until it got too much and he pulled back, the last of it spilling across his lips and chin. He looked bemused as he worked his mouth to swallow the last of Toby's come. He'd never looked so sexy.

"That was incredible." Toby tightened his grip in Elliot's hair and pulled him up and licked his chin clean, wiped his tongue over those swollen lips and inside, where Elliot tasted like Toby's cock. "What else have you been imagining?"

"Surprise me."

That finger in his ass had been surprising. It had set a little flame of hope going. Elliot didn't know how to untangle a little butt play from trauma? Toby could teach him that. "I want to slide down and lick your ass. You ever been rimmed?"

Elliot's eyes got round, and then darted away. "A... a little."

Toby wondered if it was the ass-talk making him shy, or that Toby was asking if his wife had rimmed him. With Toby, questions like that were general: did you ever do that with someone? With Elliot they were specific: Did your ex-wife Kathy ever stick her pretty pink tongue in your ass? It felt like an invasion of Kathy's privacy.

But it felt strangely good, too: in Franco's, you didn't care enough to ask those questions at all. Toby kissed his lips. "I want to do it a lot. I want to work you open until I can press my long, long tongue all the way in. Will you let me?"

"I..." Elliot was doing that squirming thing that Toby found so sexy. If Toby waited for a yes, Elliot might never come.

"Roll on your stomach." Toby guided him over a pillow and spread his knees wide, crawling between to run his hands up those solid thighs to the miraculously tight ass. Elliot's whole body was stiff as a board, like he was standing over a hundred foot drop. Toby gave one ripe cheek a gentle bite and Elliot gasped and huffed a laugh, and then Toby ran his tongue up the middle and Elliot let out an unmanly whine. Toby spread him wide open, devoured the promised land with his eyes until he realised Elliot was tensing up even more. He dipped in and licked him, a slow rub with the flat of his tongue that drove the air out of Elliot, and then patterns with the pointed tip that drew it back in. "That feel good, El?" Of course it did. Over and over, and Elliot couldn't answer through all the desperate needy sounds.

Now Toby had a plan. He was going to teach Elliot to love having his ass tongued until the day he begged for a couple of fingers, and then he'd show him how good that could be until he wanted more. Toby didn't want to learn to live without fucking and being fucked, but he was patient. He wanted to draw Elliot in, the slower the better, savour every incremental advance until Elliot was on his shoulders and knees, ass in the air, shameless for a reaming. Toby hoped it took months to get there.

Toby stroked his trembling thighs and nibbled his butt and licked that knot until it was loose, until Elliot was grinding his cock against the sheets, and then he pressed him forward, up onto his knees to get a better angle and deny him the friction of the pillow, and he took a deep breath and pushed his tongue deep. Elliot's moan echoed around the room loud enough to startle the neighbours, his hands fisting in the pillows. Toby made a quiet note not to ever, ever do this when Holly was sleeping next door.

Toby crammed his face between those firm cheeks, opened his mouth wide and sucked, holding steady as Elliot bucked. And then he did with his tongue what Elliot wouldn't let him do with his cock, fucking this beautiful ass, making him writhe and moan and gasp Toby's name, thrusting inside and filling him up until Elliot froze, his whole body seized mid-breath, ass twitching, and then a long, soft groan.

Toby wiped his mouth and flopped on the bed. Elliot didn't move except for panting, a good few minutes before he even turned his head to look at Toby, eyes wide. "You didn't even touch my cock."

Toby didn't bother to hide his smugness.

"Hell." Elliot shifted, moving like some heavy beast of the plains, shoved the soggy pillow off the bed and curled up beside him, head on his shoulder, one leg slipped between Toby's. Still breathing hard. They were sticky and sweaty, but Toby just reached to pull the blanket over them. He could have gone again, but this was enough.

Elliot pressed a kiss to his chest, and Toby rubbed his neck.

A quick breath in, and quietly Elliot said, "When we split, part of me was relieved. I thought I could go back to women. Thank god I didn't have to deal with wanting a guy anymore, you know?"

"Yeah. I know." Toby remembered that same feeling when his cock stirred for his beautiful female lawyer. Because then Chris, real as their love had been, was just a prison aberration, and if Katherine got him out of Oz he wouldn't have being gay piled on top of being an ex-con and the abundance of psychological issues. And yet, here he was, buried under a pile of Elliot.

"But I couldn't. When I was jerking off, I was still thinking about your cock. Your hard body, your firm chest..." His hand wandered to demonstrate.

"So now you're worried you might be gay?"

Elliot snorted, a warm puff against his chest. 

Toby stroked his hair. "In prison everyone fits in a box. The Aryans, the Muslims, the homeboys, the Italians, the bikers, the gays... I never fit. The Aryans owned me, but I wasn't one of them. Everyone knew about Chris and me but we were never counted with the gays. I studied and prayed with a Muslim, but a white guy couldn't join them. You live and die by your labels in there, and the only one I had was 'prag'."

"So you don't buy into them now."

"I've given up trying to figure it out. You want what you want. Women still turn me on. Not as much as you do, but I haven't fallen off the far end of the Kinsey scale."

"I like that it doesn't matter to you."

If Toby was giving Elliot the impression that rewriting huge pieces of his identity had been easy, he was explaining it wrong. Falling in love with Chris had been terrifying. He nudged Elliot off and wiggled around until they were facing each other, sharing the pillow. "When I told my parents I had a lover inside, we were sitting with an FBI agent trying to figure out who had kidnapped two of my children. It's... all relative."

Elliot touched Toby's face, comforting him. "How did they take it?"

That was one of the moments frozen perfectly in Toby's memory: their open-mouthed stares, even Taylor knocked off his game. "They were shocked. But their grandchildren were missing, their son was in prison, so in the scheme of things..."

"I've seen enough parents who would have let that drown the rest. Your parents sound like good people."

"You have no idea." The lengths his dad had gone to for Chris, just because Toby asked, still took his breath away sometimes. It was a shame he'd never meet Elliot; they were both truth and justice kind of men, and his dad would have thought a lot of Elliot. It was a shame his mother had waited so long. "I want you to meet my mother."

"Really?"

"Yeah." If Elliot was sure enough to have Olivia to dinner, it was time Mother was brought back into Toby's life. "She's always asking about you."

"She knows about me?" Elliot looked genuinely surprised.

"You're the only thing I have to talk about, other than Holly and Harry."

"I just thought... " He bit his lip. "It's a long time since I had to brace myself to meet Kathy's mother."

"There's the silver lining on my past. At least you don't have to worry about measuring up to my last partner."

"At least I don't have to tell her I knocked you up at seventeen." Elliot didn't match Toby's wry smile. "Did she ever meet Chris?"

"No." Thank god, she didn't, or Elliot would have taken some explaining. "Dad did. He was working on Chris's case until he was murdered."

Elliot stroked Toby's chest. "Is that why he was killed?"

"No, he was killed because of me. Like everyone else."

All sorts of things flashed through Elliot's eyes. "What happened?"

"Some kid stabbed him in order to earn his way in with the Aryans, a few days before I was paroled for the first time. They didn't let me go to the funeral."

And so Toby came home to a house in mourning, his mother a wreck, Holly reverting to her post-kidnap trauma, Harry crying for Jonah and Marta. If his father had still been alive, Toby would have talked to him about picking up Bonnie's drugs for Chris, and his father would never have let him go.

Elliot drew Toby's hand up between them, tangling their fingers. "I'd love to meet your mother."

Toby slid his ankle between Elliot's, and they lay there, noses inches apart, enjoying the quiet. A month ago, Toby thought he'd burned the bridge. Now they were lying here, naked, Toby had somehow scored a passing grade with Olivia, and Elliot was willing to meet Toby's mother.

Mother was going to be embarrassingly happy about it. "I've got dinner planned with her next week."

The corner of Elliot's lip quirked up. "Sure."

Oh. Wait. "There's one small hitch."

There went the smile, whooshed away with a full body clench. "Holly will be there."

Toby and Holly were back to their old inseparable selves, but Toby's suggestion that Elliot come to dinner had been met with a snarl. "I'm working on her, but-"

"What can you tell her? That hitting you was excusable?" Elliot's face screwed up in disgust.

"Should I tell her that she got in the way of an all-out brawl? That I've done a hell of a lot more than punch other people?"

"Don't ever."

Toby propped himself up on an elbow. "Do you really think I wasn't ready to hit you back?"

Elliot flinched. What had he expected would have happened if Holly hadn't rushed in? That Toby would have just stood there and taken it like a bitch?

"She shouldn't ever know any of that." Elliot sat up, tucking the sheet around him. "Toby, you have to know that children exposed to violence are more likely to suffer violence throughout their lives. You don't want to let her out into the terrifying world of dating with an ambiguous message about how guys can treat her."

Toby sucked in a breath. If some teenage boy ever laid a hand on Holly...

Elliot's hand covered Toby's clenched fist. "Believe me, I know." Toby looked up and saw the smoulder reflected in Elliot's eyes. Of course he did. Pity the soul who hurt any of the Stabler girls. "She's going to be on her own out there. All you can do is teach her to handle life as best she can."

"So, what? You're telling me I should cut you out of my life as some kind of life lesson for Holly?"

Elliot chewed on that for far longer that Toby was comfortable with, but finally he said, "Maybe you can't do it. I'm the one who owes her an apology."

"You really want to?"

"No. I just think maybe it's something I need to do."

And that was what got Toby in the gut about Elliot. He didn't want to do it to manipulate Toby, or even to make Toby happy. Elliot just wanted to do the right thing.

Toby tugged him back down and rolled over, pulling Elliot to curl up behind him. Elliot's chest to Toby's back, Elliot's knees tucked behind Toby's knees, a heavy arm wrapped over him. This was the message Toby wanted Holly to have about the men in her life.


	46. No excuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 45, Relatives:  
> The birthday dinner was over; time to clean the kitchen. Elliot insisted Olivia's visit hadn't been a test. Toby accepted that, but wanted to know if he passed. Which he did.  
> It took some doing, but Elliot persuaded Toby to say fuck the dishes, and they got to sexin'. Elliot displayed new confidence. Toby showed Elliot what his tongue could do.  
> In the warm afterglow, Elliot mused on getting used to wanting a guy. Toby asked Elliot to meet his Mom. And they acknowledged that getting Holly to welcome Elliot back was a complicated issue.

The streetlights were just blinking on as Elliot pulled up in front. Lizzie was out of the car as soon as it stopped, head down, straight up the path to the house. 

Kathy was standing at the mailbox. "Hey, Lizzie, how was it?"

"It's horrible." Lizzie rushed in the door, and Kathy watched her go, bemused.

"Her teeth hurt, and she hates how she looks," said Elliot.

"I'll bet. How does it look?" Kathy wandered down the steps to meet him on the path.

He handed over the shopping bags and Lizzie's half-drunk smoothie. "A little like a chipmunk. Just like Maureen, when she got her braces on. There's some extra-strength Tylenol in there."

"Thanks for taking her. I couldn't juggle any more days off."

"You don't have to thank me." Being thanked for doing basic dad stuff like taking his kid to the orthodontist just made him feel like a lousy father. For a bad day for Elizabeth, it had turned out pretty nice for Elliot: he'd taken her out for one last bagel before the appointment, and afterwards he'd taken her shopping for chapsticks, which turned out to be buying ten different flavours of lip balms and glosses and assorted other girl-things. "When did she start buying cosmetics?"

"Apparently seventh grade means make up."

Elliot shook his head. He wasn't ready for his last little girl to grow up. "Can we talk?"

Kathy was instantly wary. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Elliot reached over and straightened the little Pottery Barn witch in the planter box. The path to the door was lined with the usual creepy decorations, and just like every year, Elliot wondered when Halloween had snuck up on him. He looked up; Kathy was waiting. He hadn't decided how to say this, but he wanted to bite the bullet.

"Are you dating someone?"

"Yeah." He hated how awkward he felt about this. He never felt awkward when he was with Toby, but trying to explain it to his wife of twenty years, here in the front yard of the house he'd raised his children in, he was lost.

"Is it another man?"

Like that, he supposed. "It's Toby. We're back together."

"All right."

He looked up at her tone. He supposed he'd have that tone, if she told him she was serious about someone. For more than half his life, he'd really believed 'until death do us part,' with her. Even six months ago, some part of him had been waiting for Kathy to show up and tell him she'd punished him enough. Which was probably why he was divorced. 

She clutched her cardigan a little tighter. It was chilly out here. "I take it this is more than casual dating."

Elliot nodded, but he could see she was waiting for something more, so he added, "I'm going to meet his mother tomorrow."

One eyebrow shot up, lip curling. "You're going to meet your boyfriend's mother? You still twitch when we visit my mother. Or you did, when..."

When they were still married. Elliot shrugged. Kathy's parents were good people, but he'd never stopped feeling like the dolt who knocked up their daughter at seventeen. And once the marriage got rocky, he'd felt the chill, and he'd known Kathy was confiding in them.

"Are you going to introduce him to your mother?"

Not likely. Elliot slid his hands into his pockets. "His family's old money. Rich society people."

"You're worried you won't be good enough for their rich society family?"

It wasn't like that. Elliot had no trouble dealing with those sort of people when he was working, but he didn't need to know what fork to use when he was interrogating a witness. He was more of a beers at a sports bar kind of guy. "Toby's a silver spoon Harvard-law-educated-"

"He's a lawyer?" She stared, open-mouthed, more shocked than when Elliot had told her he was a man.

"He was, not anymore. He never did criminal law."

"Why did he change careers?"

"That's... I'll tell you about that some other time." He knew that just raised her suspicions, but he doubted she'd suspect anything as wild as Elliot being with a felon. "I'm sorry I was such a prick that time I saw you dressed up for a date."

"Elliot, that was what, a year ago?"

"Then I'm sorry it took me so long to apologise."

Kathy looked away, uncomfortable. "I understood. I was mad as hell, but I understood."

"Have you... Are you still seeing him? Or anyone?"

"Him? No. I've been on a few dates. Nothing serious."

Elliot had no right to feel relieved by that. "You deserve to have someone in your life. Someone who'll treat you better than I did."

She folded her arms. "We had a lot of good years, El." She shifted on her feet, thinking it through. "How does his daughter feel about all this?"

"Holly?"

"You said she was there when you..."

Elliot rubbed his head. He'd forgotten that he'd told Kathy that. "She hates my living, breathing guts. About as much as any of ours would, if some man laid a hand on you."

Kathy didn't have any wise advice for that problem.

"I've been seeing someone. A counsellor."

More surprise. "Is it helping?"

"I don't know." Some of Judith's calming techniques had come in handy a few times, but there hadn't been any sort of miraculous cure for the simmering anger he carried with him. And Elliot had done enough sharing for now. "It's cold out here. You should go in."

She nodded, glancing back towards the glowing kitchen window. Someone had painted a menacing pumpkin on it. "Did you want to..."

"No. No, you've probably got dinner almost ready. I'll see the kids soon." He started backing down the path. "You probably remember everything from Maureen's braces, but there's a pamphlet in one of those bags."

"Are you going to tell the kids?"

"I will." He pretended he didn't see her look, but he paused. "Maureen knows."

"Maureen?"

"She met him. Before it all..."

"Maureen met him? She knows?"

"Yeah."

"She kept it a secret?"

"I asked her to wait, and then we split..."

She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. "I didn't know Maureen had it in her to keep quiet about something like that."

"She's growing up."

"I guess I'll be interrogating her tonight when she stops by to cheer up Elizabeth."

Great. "I'll see you next week, Kath."

Elliot headed back to the car. There'd been a lot of moments when it came home that his life with Kathy was over: clearing his last things out of the house, waking up alone on Christmas morning; seeing Kathy's bare finger. And now. No chance of reconciliation. Not even a lingering wish that things had gone differently. They'd gone the way they had, and now Elliot was with Toby. This was the first time one of those moments brought peace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot had been picturing some kind of stone mansion with a circular drive, but Toby's mother lived in a sleek modern townhouse in Manhattan Beach, an easy walk from Coney Island. It was all angles and picture windows and just a couple of doors up from the waterfront. He was pretty sure one of those potted plants would cost him a month's salary. Elliot wanted to go home and change into a coat and tie.

Toby had convinced him to dress down a little, promised this would be informal, so he'd just thrown a leather jacket over a grey Henley. He'd felt good about it when he picked Toby up and Toby purred over the leather, but now...

Toby was looking all Steve McQueen with a sports jacket over a turtleneck. Informal but suave and classy. Elliot couldn't have looked any more blue collar if he'd shown up at Mrs Beecher's door in reflective vest.

Toby put a hand on his back as they climbed the front stairs. "You've been in shoot-outs, remember? My mother's not that intimidating."

"I'm not afraid of your mother."

"Seemed like you did a lot of tossing and turning last night."

"When am I not tossing and turning?" Elliot hadn't had a solid night's sleep in over twenty years. Sure, last night he was mostly counting the ways some old money society woman could look down on her son's male cop lover, but Toby didn't know that. "Have I told you how good you look?"

Toby eyed him over. "I got the memo when you couldn't keep your eyes on the road."

That was kind of true. Elliot wanted to drag Toby off to a quiet corner and make out. That turtleneck looked soft.

Toby was lifting his key to the door when it was thrown open. "Hello!"

"Hi, Mother."

Toby's mother wasn't anything like what Elliot had expected, either. He'd been bracing himself for an older, scrawny, matronly-type, appalled to see what her son had dragged in, but she was a small, smiling woman with a head of unruly curls, who grabbed both of Elliot's hands as soon as he was within reach. "Elliot, it's such a pleasure to meet you at last."

"And you, Mrs Beecher."

"Victoria, please." No distaste for him being a man, no sneer for the cop who thought he was good enough for her son. "Toby, dear." She hugged Toby close, and the way he squirmed under her affection reminded Elliot of Dickie, age nine. It made him smile.

She was young - looked too young to be Toby's mother - and all smiles, which he hadn't expected at all. "Holly's upstairs; she'll be down soon."

Refusing to come down because of him, Elliot was sure. He shared a look with Toby, and realised he didn't know how much Victoria knew about why Holly didn't want anything to do with him. Obviously not all of it. His cheeks burned with shame.

Toby glanced up the stairs. "I'll talk her down later. It won't hurt to have some time for us."

Victoria dismissed that with a wave. "I told her to come down for dinner or go hungry. Come on through - Samuel's going to serve us canapes out the back. It's been such beautiful weather, and enjoying the outdoors seems so urgent when winter's rolling in. I know Toby prefers the garden."

"Sounds lovely, Mother," said Toby.

She led them through a meticulously-kept house, white carpets and real art on the walls, to a back porch in a tiny wild garden. Elliot could see why Toby liked it out here. "This is beautiful, Victoria."

"I wish I could take credit, Elliot. My gardener, Belinda, is a sweetheart." She led Elliot to sit with her on the loveseat, leaving Toby to perch on the wing chair.

"You have a beautiful home."

"I moved here after my husband died. That big house was far too much for Holly and me."

So she moved after Toby went back to prison. Elliot could see that in Toby's discomfort.

"Toby, before I forget, Patricia sent a save the date for her wedding in May. There's one for you, too."

"For me?"

"Of course."

"Mother, she doesn't want me at her wedding."

"The save the date card would indicate that she does."

"She's just being polite."

Victoria's eyes narrowed. "Her family was very good to ours while you were gone. She always asked after you."

"Mother..."

"You're going."

Elliot had to hide his grin. It was fun seeing this side of Toby, exasperated and out-foxed by his mother.

"And am I supposed to take a plus-one?"

Elliot stopped smiling.

"Well, that's a question you should put to Elliot, isn't it?" She turned to him. "They're lovely people. You do tend to find out who your friends are, when you go through trials like ours."

"I'm sure you do."

She looked to Toby again. "You can't hide from your old friends forever, Toby."

He rolled his eyes, obviously knowing his way through this argument. "I thought we came here tonight so you could badger Elliot."

"And I will."

With perfect timing, an older gentleman stepped out with a silver tray of tiny bruschettas, twisty cheese pastries, and shrimp and sausage slices mounted together on toothpicks.

"Hi, Samuel." Toby jumped up to tug a low table into a better spot.

"Good evening, Mr Beecher."

Victoria thanked him as he put down the tray. "This is our friend Elliot Stabler."

"Good evening, Mr Stabler."

"Nice to meet you."

"May I offer you a drink?"

Toby leaned in before Elliot had to wonder what was on offer. "Let Samuel get you a beer. He's a beer connoisseur."

Samuel looked pleased, so Elliot nodded. "Sure. Something towards the pale end?"

"Certainly, sir."

They organised drinks with the butler, and then Victoria made herself comfortable, ready to turn her motherly focus on Elliot. "Tell me all about yourself. Toby says you have children?"

"Four. Ages twelve through twenty-one."

"That's wonderful. All healthy and happy, I hope?"

"We've been lucky. Though one of my youngest, Elizabeth, got braces this week, and she's feeling a little sorry for herself."

"I'm sure, poor thing. You said you met his oldest, Toby?"

Toby polished off a pastry, absently licking crumbs off his fingers until Victoria chided him. "Sorry. Yes, Maureen. You'd like her, Mother."

They talked about Maureen's post-grad plans, and Victoria extolled the virtues of Boston University. Elliot made the same case he'd been trying to make with Maureen for Colombia. Samuel brought out a pretty incredible beer, a shandy for Victoria and a cream soda for Toby.

Elliot smiled at that. "Cream soda?"

"Don't mock it." Toby held out his bottle until Elliot accepted it and took a sip.

And another, deeper sip. It didn't taste how Elliot remembered from when he was a kid. "That's really good." He checked the label before he passed it back. It wasn't as good as his beer, but it was good.

They got back to discussing Elliot's kids, and their adventures led to Harry and Holly, and Toby trying not to sneak glances inside. It was good of him to stay close, but his mother wasn't so terrifying after all. "Go on, I'm fine here."

Toby looked at him, caught.

"Go up and talk to her. Just don't..."

"Don't push her to come down. I won't. Thanks." Toby was inside like a shot.

Elliot watched him go, and turned back to find Victoria watching him. Now the interrogation began. He took a little bruschetta while he waited for the questions she'd ask now Toby was out of hearing.

"Toby says you're with the police? A detective?" Straight for the job. This was what Elliot had been bracing for since Toby asked him to come.

"That's right."

"And how did you get into the police force?"

"My dad was a cop. I did a couple of years in the Marines, and then I guess I followed in his footsteps."

"Like Toby and Angus followed Harrison."

"I guess so." Though it didn't sound like an urgent need to support a premature family had driven either of them through law school.

She took a moment to select a canape. "I think it means a lot to a father, for his son to follow him. I know it meant a lot to Harrison."

Elliot had never been sure. His dad had made a few gruff noises of approval, but he hadn't had a lot of friends left on the force by the time Elliot applied to the academy. Elliot had never wished for Dickie to follow him.

"What department?"

That was always Elliot's least favourite question. Nobody was comfortable with the sex police. "I'm with the Special Victims Unit."

Her smile faded as her eyes darted to where Toby had gone. "Is Toby all right?"

And he hadn't thought to anticipate that. "Mrs Beecher, I'm not... He's a friend, not a case."

She didn't look convinced.

"I promise you, that's not how we met."

Slowly her eyes lowered. "He thinks I'm a naive old woman. I know things happened in prison. I know a lot more than he'd like me to know."

Elliot wished she didn't. It was too soon for this conversation, but Victoria was hardly the first distressed mother he'd spoken to. At least this he had practice in. "Maybe believing you don't know is what gets him through the day."

He saw her eyes close, her hand grip the armrest, and realised he'd just confirmed it. Damn. "You can't imagine what it's like to hear your son tell you his heroin habit is the only way he can get through his days in prison. And then to find you don't have a single argument to make to the contrary."

Elliot didn't have the first clue what to say to that.

"Sometimes I feel like that's the last truly honest conversation Toby and I had." She shifted, turning to face Elliot better. "That place took my daughter-in-law, my grandson and my husband. It almost took Angus. It ate a piece out of Holly's and Harry's childhoods. I'd be grateful if I could just have my son back."

"Give it time. He's still finding his feet."

She nodded like she'd told herself that more than once. "I wish there was more I could do. I wish I knew where we went wrong in the first place, how we failed him."

"I think Toby would be the first to tell you that he was responsible for his actions."

"Would you forgive yourself if it happened to one of your children?"

Never.

She looked out to the garden, sipping her shandy. "You can't imagine how glad I am to meet you, Elliot. It means a great deal to know there is someone caring for Toby."

Elliot took a mouthful of beer, let it sit on his tongue before he gulped it down. "Holly won't come downstairs because I hit your son."

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"There's no reason, no excuse. I lost my temper." He held his breath as she examined him, wondering if blurting that out had blown everything up. She deserved to know Elliot was no knight in shining armour. It was a miracle Holly hadn't let it out.

Finally she refolded her hands. "Thank you for telling me. But that's not quite true, is it?" Her eyes were cold. "You hit him because you learned about Chris Keller."

Elliot sat back. "You knew."

"He told me."

So much for Toby not talking to her. All this time, under all this bubbling friendliness, she'd known he punched Toby. "I'm sorry." The apology felt ridiculous.

She pulled her cardigan tighter, tipped her head to listen for Toby's footsteps, and Elliot held his breath. "Chris Keller was... a terrible, awful... He was a bastard." She spat out the last word, hard enough to make Elliot sit up. "I know he saved Holly's life, and Toby's - maybe all our lives - but even if I could forget what he did to those three poor young men, I can't ever forgive all of the things he did to Toby." She looked at him, waited until he nodded. "That bastard pinned my son down on a basketball court and broke his arms and legs. Can you imagine what it was like to see him in a hospital bed in that state? To know he was going back in there, and there wasn't a thing we could do to protect him?"

Elliot couldn't.

"Keller hurt him over and over, and when my son was finally free of that place he ripped him from the arms of his children and dragged him back." There was real venom in her tone, and Elliot was startled to realise it was the most she'd reminded him of Toby all evening.

Over the years Elliot had had plenty of opportunities to put himself in the shoes of parents of victims. Now he tried to imagine having to stand by the way Victoria had, while Dickie went through even a sampling of Toby's life. It made him want to protect Toby all over again.

Her mouth twisted, a bitterness that didn't belong on her face. "I don't care to know what hold that animal had over my son. I just need to know that you'll be good for him."

Elliot didn't know that he was good for anyone, but he was certainly going to try. "I care about him."

"That isn't enough." She put her drink down. "You men, you excuse violence too easily. That place... it was nothing but violence. My son went in a drunk and he came out a dangerous man. It needs to stop."

"It won't ever happen again, Mrs Beecher. I'd never forgive myself."

She shook her head, curls bouncing, so Elliot squeezed her hand.

"And I'd never accept it from Toby, either."

It was the last declaration that seemed to ease her mind. She squeezed him back. "Thank you." 

 

Finally Toby came down, looking like he'd soundly lost that argument. He dropped into a chair, ran a hand through his crew cut. Elliot wanted to comfort him, but he had no business pretending to be a bystander. Toby had been up there trying to get his daughter to accept something she never should.

If Elliot couldn't get things right with Holly, things would never be right with Toby. Elliot put down his beer. "I have to be the one who fixes this."

Toby shook his head. "She needs time."

"She needs an apology. And then time."

"Elliot, she won't-"

Victoria patted Elliot's knee. "Up the stairs, second door on the right."

Elliot slipped a hand onto Toby's shoulder and gave a squeeze as he passed. He needed the touch to fortify himself, but if Toby took it as a comfort, that was fine, too.

He took the stairs, and had no trouble picking out the door with 'Holly' marked in uneven foam letters. It was ajar, and he could see her sitting up on her bed, reading. Elliot steeled himself. He talked to upset kids all the time. He just wasn't usually the perp. 

He knocked twice. Holly drew breath to tell Toby to go away, and then she saw it was Elliot, and settled for a poisonous glare. It could have been Lizzie sitting there, angry about being told she couldn't go to a party. Or Kathleen or Maureen, a few years back. Actually, it could be Kathleen now. He pushed the door wider and leaned against the jamb, knowing better than to ask to come in. "Hi."

She was in jeans and fuzzy blue sweater, her long blonde braid tied off with a matching ribbon. The last time he saw her, she'd been clinging to her bleeding father.

She lifted her book, and pretended to go back to reading. This bedroom was decorated in pink, cluttered with soft toys, shelves stuffed with old board games. This had been Holly's full-time home until a year ago.

"I've apologised to your dad, but I've never told you how sorry I am."

She started reading the same page over.

"I'm sure your dad has made a lot of excuses for what I did, but none of them are good. I had no right to hurt him. There's no excuse. I lost my temper. I'm sorry." He waited, hoping for something.

She turned the page, but her eyes weren't tracking.

"I care about your dad-"

"You're just as bad as all the others, Stalin and Harry and Pop and everyone else. He lets everyone treat him like a bad person and he's not."

"I know he's not." Elliot slid his hands into his pockets. "Your dad forgave me, but you don't have to."

"I'm not going to."

"I will never, ever do it again."

She finally looked up. "Why would I believe you?"

"You shouldn't. But I brought you this." He pulled a business card out of his wallet and stepped inside to hand it over.

She was too curious to refuse it. He could feel his heart hammering as she read it carefully. "Who's Captain Donald Cragen?"

"He's my boss. If I ever did that again, you could call him, and I'd be in big trouble."

She didn't look as pleased as he thought she would. She kept on examining the card. "Would you go to prison?"

"Probably not." Not for a first offence. "I might be put on probation or have to do community service. I might lose my job."

"And you wouldn't help kids anymore."

Elliot looked around, found her desk chair and sat. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm never going to hurt your dad again. I care about him a lot, Holly. What I did... I'm ashamed of it. I'm trying to do better with my temper."

She contemplated him for a long time, that serious adult face that kids only nailed after awful, adult things had happened to them. "What would you do if you lost your job?"

"I don't know." He wouldn't be able to provide for his kids. If his temper took his job and Toby in one swoop, there wouldn't be much left for him at all.

She turned the card over, and over again. "What did you do today?"

"What do you mean?"

"What case are you working on?"

Elliot definitely didn't want to discuss his job with Holly. He could barely discuss it with Toby. "I'm helping a woman who was hurt." Beaten, violated, left for dead two days ago. She woke up today and they had to tell her they didn't have any decent leads.

"Was she raped?"

Elliot floundered. His own kids knew better than to ask him for details. "Holly, I can't discuss things like that with you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're eleven years old, and you already know too much about the bad things that happen in the world."

She leaned forward, watching him with wide blue eyes. "Do you know kids who've been through worse than me?"

This was getting way too close to the line, but at least she was talking to him. "Yes. And some who don't have anyone who loves them as much as your family loves you."

She looked down again. Elliot hadn't meant to shame her. "I don't forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"Tell Dad I'll be down for dinner." She tucked Cragen's card in the back of her book and opened it to start reading. Barely loud enough for Elliot to hear, she added, "Please."

"I will. Thank you."

 

Toby was alone when Elliot stepped outside, sipping his cream soda. He seemed surprised to see him intact.

"She'll be down for dinner."

Toby's mouth opened. "What did you say?"

"That's between me and Holly."

"Thank you."

Elliot sat on the loveseat and reached across for Toby's hand, tugging him until he came to sit beside him. "You don't need to thank me. I think we have a truce, more than reconciliation, but it's a start." He put his arm around Toby's shoulders, glad when Toby leaned against him. He felt like he'd lost ten pounds.

He rubbed his cheek in Toby' short hair. "You know the only time Dickie ever wore a turtleneck was to cover a hickey." He was glad he hadn't thought of that before he met Victoria.

Toby tugged at his collar. "You want to get one in while Mother's on the phone?"

"I'll pass."

"Seriously, how did you get Holly onside?"

"I gave her complete power over my life. It seemed like a fair trade."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner went more smoothly than Toby had dared to hope. He knew his mother would like Elliot, but he could have hugged her for how quickly she'd made him feel comfortable when they arrived. And just when Toby had given up hoping Holly would budge, Elliot had somehow talked her down for dinner. He was right about it being a truce; Holly hadn't said one word more to Elliot through dinner than she needed to be politely ask him to pass things, but she had managed that much. Toby had hugged her tightly, when he wished her goodnight.

He wished he could do a lot more than hug Elliot. It seemed weird, that watching Elliot be at home with his family made him hard, but then he remembered something similar with Gen, how watching her tuck the kids into bed used to stir some primal instinct to make more family with her. So maybe it was normal, that he wanted to drag Elliot back upstairs and get his clothes off to thank him for tonight. He'd felt Elliot's gaze, and was sure he had the same dirty thoughts.

The salt air off the bay was chilly as he walked Elliot back to his car. He hadn't bothered to bring his jacket for the short walk. "Are you sure you won't stay?"

Elliot looked awkwardly back towards the house. "I have to pick Dickie up at eight; I'd rather do the drive home now than tomorrow." And Elliot had managed to put an arm around Toby while his mother was out of view, but Toby could tell he wasn't ready to be sharing a bed under her roof. "Your mother's one hell of a woman."

Toby had realised that all over again himself, tonight. "She liked you."

"She wanted to know my intentions towards you."

Great. Now Toby was going to spend half the night wondering how that conversation had gone. "She can be a little overprotective."

"Can you blame her?" Elliot shuffled his feet on the pavement. "I'm glad you told her what I did to you." Toby was confused, until Elliot laid a hand where his fist had left its mark.

Toby laid his own hand on top. "She knows what I did to you." Most of it. Not all.

Half a minute passed, and Elliot moved his hand to Toby's back, got them moving again. From here the rush of waves was louder than the traffic from the boulevard. Toby smiled at a house strung with pumpkin fairy lights. Maybe he should get some decorations up at home. Another few yards to the car, and Elliot pulled his keys out of his pocket. It was dark here, streetlight shadowed by a tree. No one around. Toby stepped close and Elliot met him halfway, an arm around his waist and an arm around his shoulders, a warm kiss. And then Elliot hugged him, and Toby slipped his arms under the leather jacket and latched on tight. He wished Elliot would stay.

"I'm going to win Holly over."

"I know."

Elliot slipped back too soon, though he kept one hand on Toby's arm as he played with his keys. When he lifted his head his gaze was intense. "I couldn't keep my eyes off you tonight. You looked happy. I liked being part of that."

Toby smiled, pleased and awkward.

Elliot jangled the keys, suddenly nervous. "You know, it's been nearly two years since Kathy moved out? I thought it was all over. I couldn't imagine being with anyone else. Couldn't imagine anything else good happening in my life unless she came back. I thought my future was just burying myself in work, drinking my way through to retirement. That was the only plan I had." His tongue pushed out over his bottom lip, unconsciously pacing his words. "I never thought I'd find myself watching the clock all day, excited to see someone else. Never thought I'd find myself looking forward to introducing my kids to someone I care about this much. I love you."

Elliot stared at him for a long time, and then he abruptly unlocked his car and climbed in and drove away. It was another five minutes at least, before Toby realised Elliot had been waiting for him to say the same back.


	47. A beautiful friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 46, No excuses:  
> Elliot told Kathy he was back with Toby. It was awkward.  
> Toby and Elliot fronted up to Mrs Beecher's house. To Elliot's surprise, the welcome was bubbling and warm, and it was fun to see Toby nagged by his mother. While Toby was upstairs begging Holly to come down, Elliot and Victoria talked about the abuse Toby suffered in prison, and oh, hey, that time Elliot punched her son. Victoria explained that she was not a member of the Chris Keller fan club, and she didn't want any more violence in Toby's life.  
> Elliot girded his loins and went upstairs to Holly. He gave her Cragen's card as a guarantee of future good behaviour, and earned a grudging truce.  
> After dinner, Toby walked Elliot back to his car. Elliot told Toby he loved him. It was met with resounding silence.

Toby was shivering, but he took his time walking back to the house, mind reeling like it had that first time Elliot kissed him on the steps of his apartment, Olivia watching from the squad car.

Love? He wasn't ready for words like that. Elliot wasn't ready for words like that, any more than he'd been ready to get in bed with a man back in March, but he'd just thrown it out there and driven off, and Toby could barely feel the warmth a declaration like that was supposed to bring for the fear that squeezed his bones.

How typical of Toby's life, that a lie from a con in a prison laundry had lifted him higher than those same words from a man like Elliot Stabler.

Elliot thought he loved Toby. He didn't even know Toby. He thought this was a fresh new honest beginning, but Toby still hadn't - and wouldn't ever - tell Elliot that he murdered Metzger with his bare hands. He couldn't ever tell Elliot he gave Adam Guenzel over to Vern Schillinger, tied with a ribbon, just so he could see Chris on death row.

Elliot never needed to find out either of those things. His likeness to Chris and all the revelations that followed had been a ticking bomb, but only Chris had ever known that Toby killed Metzger, and who would ever tell him about Adam? Sister Pete? Elliot wasn't ever going to meet Sister Pete.

Toby cared for Elliot. More than he expected to care for anybody again. He could say the words and Elliot wouldn't know it was a lie. He wouldn't know the difference because he'd never been dragged through the highs and lows of a passion like what Toby had with Chris. Love didn't come from the heart; it came from the depths of your gut, dragged up and choking you on the way out.

Elliot was special, but he wasn't that. Elliot was companionship. He was stability and peace, and Toby valued those things in a way he couldn't have imagined when he was drinking his way through his legal career.

Toby trudged up the stairs and let himself into the warmth, found Mother in the den. He kicked off his shoes and settled in the recliner, let his head flop. "So?"

"He seems like a good man."

"He is." Too late he felt the hesitation in her tone, and lifted his head, panic fluttering in his belly. "But...?" He thought it had gone well. Had something been said, when he was upstairs with Holly?

"Toby... Before your father died... You felt so far from my reach; there was so much you held back."

"Mother-"

"And I understood. I did. I do." Her hands were twisting together, making knots in Toby's gut. Elliot's declaration was enough complication for tonight. "But Harrison was doing that work for Chris Keller; he got to meet him, this, this man who was so important to you."

"Mother, you couldn't-"

"Harrison always did have more of you than I did. You were always his son." She smiled, but it dimmed quickly. "He didn't like to talk about the case, but I pressed him until he showed me a picture of Chris from the file."

Toby felt his face go cold.

"Who is Elliot?"

"He isn't Chris."

She waited.

"They're not related, there's nothing... no connection I can find. It's just coincidence."

"It's coincidence that you've had identical lovers?"

Toby fought the urge to tell her to butt out. He didn't want to explain to her just how deeply he'd hurt Elliot. Another failure on an infinite list. But he hated that pleading look. She was right - he'd always been closer to his dad, always turned to him for comfort and advice. Now Dad was gone, and Mother was here. Still standing by him. "I saw him one night in the city, and it was... I thought he was a ghost. I followed him, befriended him, kept trying to pretend he was Chris." He snorted. "He was nothing like Chris. He loves his kids and he drives himself into the ground protecting people. I could trust him with Holly. With me."

"Does he know?"

Toby pulled his knees up. "That was why he hit me. He thought he was substituting for a monster, just like the ones he puts in prison."

"It sounds like he was."

"Not by then, Mother. And not now. I care about Elliot."

She contemplated him for a long time. "If Chris Keller walked through that door tonight? A free man?"

"I'd choose Elliot." Toby surprised himself with how easily he answered. Chris's love had been wild, consuming, addictive, but that passion hollowed like a heroin high in comparison to seeing Elliot climb the stairs to make peace with Holly. Not a manipulation to get Toby back; not even to make Toby happy: just because it was the right thing to do. Toby still missed the thrill of Chris's obsession, the way Chris fucked, the possessive satisfaction of wrapping his hands around the spark of good that no one else could see, but he was done with fireworks. He would have passed it up for the simple comfort of sleeping in Elliot's arms, tonight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Doctor Huang shook his head, focused on Olivia and Whitlam through the glass. "He's never going to talk for a woman."

"You think we don't know that? She's just keeping him company." They didn't need Huang to tell them what made this guy tick.

Liv was doing just fine, playing it cool and professional, spinning off theories, getting details just a little wrong here and there, quietly inflating that scumbag's ego, one error at a time.

"She's just there to rile him up?"

Elliot didn't answer. If Huang couldn't see their angle, it was time for him to get out of forensic psychiatry.

When Whitlam told her she had beautiful tits, she started talking about the paint scrape on his Lexus. When he asked if she liked it from behind, she queried his financials. Immune to his taunts, but playing it with an edge of incompetence. Elliot wondered if she was picturing herself throttling the asshole. He was. Whitlam was a piece of work, and Elliot could feel his blood charging in anticipation. He'd pulled on a shirt that was a little tight across the back to show off his shoulders, and he'd rolled up his sleeves, pumped his fists to make the most of his forearms. They were going to do a little dance, and then Elliot was going to wring a confession out of the prick.

If Elliot waited here any longer, Huang was going to set him off. He'd stood by as long as he could. He gathered up the folders and breezed through the door. "You started already?"

"Joel and I were just getting to know each other."

"You were supposed to wait until we had the files together." He dropped the stack of files on the desk. "You're done."

"He was about to tell me about Thursday night."

"Benson, you're done."

Olivia didn't move.

Whitlam ignored her, so Elliot took a chair and ignored her too. "Nobody saw you at the bar between 8:30 and 9:15."

Whitlam smiled, and Elliot smiled back. They beat around the details until the door clicked behind Olivia. Elliot shot a contemptuous look in that direction, and asked Whitlam about his second ex-wife. The dynamic had all been planned, but there was still a cheap satisfaction in playing the role.

Whitlam wasn't giving him much, but he was enjoying the banter. A little bitching about the system, an undercurrent of misogyny, and they had the start of a beautifully aggressive friendship. All according to plan. Whitlam wouldn't judge Elliot for hitting a guy in front of his eleven year-old daughter. The passing thought made Elliot's skin crawl.

Whitlam made a crack about Olivia needing a good hard fuck, and Elliot laughed aloud and cringed inside. She was listening to this. She'd roll her eyes if he apologised later, but Elliot knew as well as anyone that those were the sorts of splinters that dug under your skin.

Elliot was always the one who got the job of getting on the level of the macho ego-jobs that raped and murdered women. He was the one thrown in the room when they needed someone to play the loose canon to scare the shit out of a suspect. It was never Munch or Finn, because murderers liked Elliot. It was why Elliot was so good at this job: the scum of the world saw a kindred spirit.

Elliot looked down at the files closed in front of him, flashed back to August. This was the room where Taylor laid out three stills from Chris Keller's past, the exact chair Elliot had been sitting in as he learned that Toby liked murderers, too.

No. Toby loved a murderer. With Elliot, it was something less. Something that left Toby mute when Elliot confessed his feelings on a shadowed street in Manhattan Beach.

"Detective?"

Elliot blinked, and realised he'd lost the thread. He asked Whitlam about the paint scrape, and reminded himself that this game was how they were going to get justice for three women.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby checked his phone again. In case he'd somehow missed it ringing from two feet away. Nothing from Holly. Nothing from Elliot. The radio silence from Holly hopefully meant she was having a good time, but Elliot should have been here by now. Elliot had told him not to wait for dinner. He hadn't said anything about being this late.

Toby really could have used the company. He'd been channel-hopping for an hour or more, one eye watching the wall clock tick, and when he wasn't worrying about Holly he was wondering why Elliot had sounded snippy on the phone. At the time Toby had put it down to the case, but as the minutes ticked by he'd started wondering if it had more to do with their parting conversation at Mother's.

A key in the door at last, and Toby bounced to his feet as Elliot came through. He gave a short "Hey," as he hung his coat, followed by his jacket and scarf. "It's freezing out there."

Toby took in the hard jaw, the stiff shoulders. "Hi. You got held up at work?"

"Where else would I be?" 

He toed off his shoes and headed to the kitchen, opened the fridge. 

After a moment, Toby followed. "There are some leftovers, if you want them."

"No." Elliot closed the fridge, stood there with his hand on the handle.

"Bad day at work?"

"What else?"

It could have been Toby, the thing he didn't say back on Tuesday night. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to fucking talk about it." Elliot winced, obviously hearing himself, but in no mood to apologise. He opened the fridge door again, glaring in. And then he closed it hard, made his hands into fists and then forced his fingers open.

"Do you want to watch TV?"

"No."

"Do you want to go lift weights?"

Surprise ruined his glare, and after a moment he nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Go on. You know where they are."

Elliot's whole body shifted, easing just a little, and he came through via Toby, squeezed his shoulder and whispered a thank you on his way to the bedroom.

Toby relaxed as he went. Elliot wasn't angry with him. Toby threw himself on the couch and flipped the channel. He'd been bracing himself for days for an uncomfortable talk about feelings, and what Elliot thought he felt and why Toby didn't, so for just this tiny moment he was going to be grateful for the toll the job took. 

A tiny moment, and then Toby felt like an asshole. The parade of victims and perps was carving away at Elliot's soul - not as fast as Oz smashed Toby's, but the damage was there, and it was nothing to be grateful for. Did today's victim have any idea what Elliot did to himself for them? They couldn't. Toby hadn't had space to care, when he was waiting for Gary and Holly to come home.

Toby managed five more minutes of financial news, cooking shows and some awful old Tom Hanks movie, then he dumped the remote and dropped his phone in his pocket and started puttering around, tidying the living area until he couldn't resist the pull to his room.

He leaned in the doorjamb, watching Elliot bench press. Elliot had stripped to his undershirt and briefs. His muscles were bulging, his tank top was drenched, and there was a fierceness in the glare fixed on the ceiling. The whole picture made Toby rock-hard.

Talk was cheap when rage had you in its clutches, but there were other ways to help. Maybe it would help if Toby buried his face in Elliot's sweating crotch, chewed his cock right through his underwear, felt those straining thighs against his cheeks. Toby could draw those same gasps and grunts with his mouth, push him over the edge Elliot was never going to reach with the simple burn of muscles.

But god knew what perversion Elliot had dealt with today, if he could even stand to be touched.

There was a quiver in his arms before he lowered again, pushing his limits. Toby moved closer and stood behind him, hands loosely wrapped around the bar for safety, feeling the shake. "Keep going. I've got you."

And so Elliot lowered again, teeth gritting as he pushed up until his arms straightened.

Down, eyes flicking towards Toby and then coming straight back, settling on Toby's tented sweats, a moment's pause before the next lift. Another press, and Elliot's cock was rising, stretching the cotton briefs tight.

Maybe Toby could help, after all. Elliot liked it sweaty, he remembered. Like after a few rounds of basketball.

"I could watch this all day, El."

With that Elliot dropped the barbell into its cradle and his hands went straight to Toby, one hand on his thigh and the other cupping his crotch, squeezing. "Fuck, Toby."

Toby leaned on the bar as Elliot tugged down his sweatpants, struggling to work upside down until Toby's cock was out and Elliot could wrap his hand around it, dry and dusty with chalk. "You look sexy as hell down there, Elliot. Pictured myself rubbing my cock over every sweating muscle."

"Get your shirt off. Get it all off; come here."

Toby stripped naked and came around. Elliot caught his hip as soon as he was within reach and dragged him closer, dragging him around until Toby swung a leg over to straddle Elliot's chest and then he curled up to swallow Toby's cock, most of the way down at once and then he slowly, slowly slid back, abs straining as he uncurled, and Toby moaned. Elliot popped off the tip, panting, and then wrapped a hand around to guide him in and suck some more, slurping wet sounds and harsh breaths. The angle was awkward but the view was incredible. Elliot's grip was hard on his hip and gentle on his cock, moving him where he wanted him, and Toby gave himself over. Anything Elliot wanted. Those strong hands, that greedy hot mouth, all this incredible patience.

Toby pushed his fingers through the wet hair at the nape of Elliot's neck, his eyes stuck on that soft mouth wrapping tight around his cock. "Yeah, suck me. Feel so good." 

Elliot raised his eyes to meet Toby's and it was almost enough but Toby held on, trailed the backs of his fingers along Elliot's tight cheek, rubbed a thumb along Elliot's swollen bottom lip. Elliot drew all the way off, swiped Toby's thumb with his tongue and then took him in again, turning his head so the crown of Toby's cock pushed under his fingers; Toby rubbed a circle and felt it through Elliot's cheek to the head of his cock. "God, El. Fuck."

Toby could smell him, the sweat and arousal and hunger. He wanted to push all the way in, watch Elliot's face contort as he pushed his limits, get Elliot's head down and push right down his throat until he exploded, see him swallow it all. He gave a little thrust, testing, and Elliot let him. Yesss. Toby was going to teach him how to let go. No resistance as Toby fed his cock into that wet heat, so Toby cupped a hand behind his head and shoved a half-inch deeper and Elliot reared back, gagging.

"Shit!" Toby gasped. "Sorry, shit!" He hauled Elliot to sit up and landed in his lap, rubbing his back through his sodden undershirt and apologising.

Elliot was shaking his head to say it was all right but he couldn't get the words out, so it wasn't. What the fuck was Toby thinking? Elliot wasn't some Franco's hook-up, and Toby wasn't going to teach him how to be that.

"It's okay," Elliot managed. "Just took me by surprise."

Toby apologised again and Elliot kissed him, catching his hand and dragging it down to squeeze his cock through his briefs. He was still most of the way to hard. Still, he had to turn away and clear his throat again. Toby was a jerk.

Time to start over. Toby dragged Elliot's clinging undershirt up his sweating body, over his head and dropped it aside. He kissed his way up Elliot's throat, rubbed their rough jaws, relief creeping in as Elliot rumbled in pleasure. He nibbed Elliot's ear, sighed as gentle fingers found his cock. This was good.

He wanted to make this last, bury his face against Elliot's skin, lick the salt off all that hard flesh until Elliot was helpless. He wanted to come and he didn't want to come yet.

Elliot kissed him. "You weigh a ton."

"Let's move this to the bed."

"Sounds good." Elliot's eyes were warm, Toby's selfishness forgotten.

Toby led him by the hand, pushed him back on the mattress and delicately freed his cock, swiping his tongue along as it bounced free. Elliot's hips lifted but he lay there, smiling up at Toby, pliant and easy. Smiling as Toby dragged his briefs down and off. As soon as they were gone Elliot reached for Toby, pulled him into the bed and curled around him, tangling their ankles and their cocks and their tongues.

Thumbs along Toby's jaw nudged him to lift his head, and Elliot brushed more soft kisses over his throat. Cool air down Toby's back made him shiver. Kisses along his shoulder to the point, and back in along his collarbone. Fingers took over, tracing the swell of his pectorals, testing the scant hair. Studying him. His thumbs dipped as far as Toby's navel, ticklish but Toby held still, waiting. Slowly Elliot found his way around Toby's ribs and behind to touch his back, eyes finally rising to meet Toby's, and he didn't need to say it. He loved Toby. Despite the lies, despite Oz, despite Chris, Elliot loved him, and that crept around the doubts, warming the places Toby tried to keep cool. But he needed Toby to say it back, and Toby was mute.

So Toby broke the stare to kiss him, rolled on top and caught Elliot's cock between his legs, right up against his balls, his own cock pressed to Elliot's stomach. When Elliot wrapped him tight and rocked with him, purring in Toby's ear, it was enough.


	48. Ghost stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 47, A beautiful friendship:  
> Toby reeled from Elliot's declaration of love. His mother revealed that she'd seen pictures of Chris, and had some concerns about the resemblance.  
> Elliot was back to his usual work of bullying suspects, and not especially comfortable with it. He showed up at Toby's in a mood, which Toby directed to the weight bench, and then sex. The sex almost went wrong when Toby got overly rough, but they got it together.

Toby's finger was tracing out the design of his marine tattoo, back and forth over his forearm. The touch was hypnotic, slowing down the thud of Elliot's heart, bringing the world slowly back into focus. Toby was pressed to his back, their legs tangled, his chin digging into Elliot's bicep as he watched his wandering finger.

The dark temper Elliot had used to hammer Whitlam into breaking his alibi was just... gone.

Toby's body swelled with a sigh. "I needed that."

Elliot twisted to see him. "You needed it?" He'd thought it was Toby's way of shoving him out of his mood.

A wry smile. "Holly's at a party."

"With seventh graders?" Holly's older friends were worrying enough; the sorts of parties they might lead her into, with seventh grade boys...

"I'm not worried about drunken orgies; it's supervised."

Elliot had heard that before.

"Aisha's mom knows the parents." Toby patted Elliot's chest. "I'm glad she's being sociable, but I don't think this party was a good idea."

"I tell my kids that every time, and they never listen."

Toby snorted. "It's a Halloween party. You didn't see the invitation on the fridge. It looked like a death metal album cover."

"Ah." That explained why Toby had kept his phone within reach, even as they stumbled from the weight bench to the bed. Elliot didn't think Holly going to a Halloween party was a good idea either. Holly didn't deal with roller coasters, scary movies or creepy-looking buildings. A middle schoolers' Halloween party seemed like a disaster in the making, but it would have been worse to tell her she couldn't handle it. He rolled over to face Toby, knees bumping. He loved the way Toby looked after sex, all sleepy-eyed and flushed, lips swollen. "It's a big step that she's brave enough to go." As long as it didn't go wrong and set her disastrously back. As long as the stress didn't kill Toby. "Is she coming home tonight?"

"Aisha's mother's dropping her home at eleven."

So much for staying the night. "I'll go before then."

Toby shook his head just slightly. "She's not going to get used to you being around if you're never around."

Elliot was willing to wait, to see how Holly got used to it. They had a couple of hours, anyway, the place to themselves. "Come on." He untangled their bodies and swung his legs out of the bed.

Toby lingered for all of five seconds before the curiosity pulled him along, following Elliot out of the bedroom, catching up his phone along the way. "Where are we going? And do we need clothes?"

"No clothes. We're having a bath."

He barked a laugh. "A bath? I haven't had a bath since... I don't even know."

"Then you don't know what you're missing out on." Elliot and Kathy had had the house to themselves maybe four times in the last twenty years, and every time Kathy had gone straight upstairs to the bath. Twice Elliot had been smart enough to join her. He turned on the taps. "You like the water hot." He remembered that from sneaking into the shower.

Toby watched him, bemused. "Did you want bubble bath, too?"

"Got any?"

"No."

Elliot checked the temperature, turned up the hot. He could use some relaxing himself. He could use the distraction of coddling Toby. Baths were something you did with your wife, your lover. It was domestic, normal. Toby never had a bath with Keller.

"Holly's got bath stuff from last Christmas she's never used."

"Steal it."

"An officer of the law is suggesting I thieve from my own daughter?"

"Why else do we have kids?"

Toby laughed and went to the cabinet. "If it smells like strawberries or shit like that, I'm drawing the line." He poked around a little. "Vanilla salts. Or here's oil. Lemon."

"Sounds manly enough. Hand it over." Elliot tipped some into the running water. "In ten minutes you're going to be telling me I'm a genius." He took the phone from Toby's hand and put it on the toilet lid. "It's within reach. Go grab some towels."

Toby did as he was told and stacked them by the sink, tossed a washcloth at Elliot. He still looked unconvinced, but the scent of lemons was rising in the light haze of steam. It smelled good.

"You really think we'll both fit in there?"

"It'll be cosy." Though Elliot hadn't really been thinking about how big their bodies were, so he quickly shut off the water. They'd fit, but there wouldn't be much room to spare. He climbed into the warmth with a sigh, spread his legs wide and beckoned Toby in.

Toby offered Elliot a towel for behind his head and with one last sceptical look he stepped over the side, giving Elliot a great view of his legs and ass as he gingerly lowered himself, letting Elliot settle him back against his chest. The water pushed up to barely an inch below the rim. A little careful shifting, oil making their skin slip, and Toby's head lolled back on Elliot's shoulder, his hips only just fitting between Elliot's thighs, his knees popping up out of the water. Elliot buried his nose in Toby's hair and breathed. Whitlam didn't know him at all.

"Now what?"

Elliot huffed. "Now we relax. We can just sit, enjoy the quiet. Or we can talk."

Toby ran a finger back and forth over Elliot's knee. "Do you want to talk about what was bothering you?"

Yes. He wanted to spill it all, and then he wanted Toby to tell him he was nothing like Keller, but would Elliot believe him if he did? "Work. Bad guys." Being one of the bad guys. Elliot concentrated on the warmth soaking into the muscles he'd been punishing an hour ago, Toby's weight against his body, tried to let the bath do its work on him, draining away what Toby hadn't already taken.

Elliot's mind kept wandering back over paths that were getting well-worn. Had Toby calmed Keller like this? Had Toby made Keller feel human? Forgiven? Did Keller feel anything at all, or had it just been some kind of charade to keep Toby pliable?

Toby let out a long sigh. "All right, you're a genius. I thought private showers were decadent, but this..."

Elliot nuzzled the soft hair, kissed behind Toby's ear. It was too soon to be getting hard again, but being wrapped around Toby like this heated him deeper than the stinging bath water. Maybe if Elliot told Toby he loved him here, like this, Toby would say it back. Maybe not. Toby loved Keller so much he sacrificed his freedom and his kids. Elliot would never want that. He just wanted Toby to say it.

"I talked to Mother earlier. She's putting the Vermont house on the market soon."

Elliot slid an arm around Toby's body to find his hand. "That place means a lot to you."

Toby played with Elliot's wet fingers. "It's all that's left from before. Genevieve sold our house before she died. Mother sold the family home after Dad died and I went back to prison." His chest swelled with a deep breath. "The world moved on. I'm a different man. Everyone I loved is dead or changed. But in my mind, that house is the same. Gary left Santa's whiskey and cookies on the same parquetry table as I did. The gravy boat for Thanksgiving has a chip from where my grandmother threw it at my grandfather before I was born. That was going to be the place where my kids knew I was there for them, hundreds of miles from the office, just like my father was for Angus and me."

It sounded like Mayberry. Elliot didn't miss much about his childhood. Rarely thought about any of it before he found Kathy, and started his own family.

"Dad taught me to ski on a bunny slope in Richmond. I always planned to teach my kids on that same hill." The yearning in Toby's voice made Elliot ache.

Elliot rolled his head back against the damp towel. "Why don't you?"

"What?"

"It's not on the market yet. Take Holly and Harry up there. You hate that you missed out on teaching Harry to ride a bike; maybe you can teach him to ski."

"That's..." Elliot could feel Toby searching for excuses. "I don't know if the parole board will-"

"You have to try." Elliot would love to see it - Toby making those memories for Holly, getting to feel like a father with Harry. He needed it, badly.

Toby slumped back against him, quiet, and Elliot knew the idea had taken root. Now he had to hope like hell the board came through, and Elliot hadn't set him up for another disappointment.

Kathy had brought a lot of the traditions for their kids. She'd been the one to show Elliot that holidays didn't have to be a tightrope walk between his father's drunk temper and his mother's crazed whims. With his own kids, Elliot had discovered the magic of Easter egg hunts and decorating the Christmas tree with his family. Elliot shifted Toby a little between his thighs, starting to feel the squish of the bath. "Maureen says hello."

"Tell her I said hi." Toby poked his knee. "Are we ever going to have more pie?"

Elliot would have liked that, but he was going to do it right, this time. "I don't think it's fair, before I tell the others. They're already going to be mad she knew first."

Toby pressed his toe against the tap. "I guess you want to wait until you're sure."

"Sure of what?"

Toby's toes stretched and flexed, and disappeared back into the water. "Sure you're staying."

Elliot lifted his head. "I'm staying."

Toby didn't answer.

"Staying's got nothing to do with it. I just don't think it's a good time." He and Toby had barely repaired the damage, were still stepping lightly around landmines. Lobbing in a few extra grenades in the form of Kathleen and the twins didn't seem like a good plan.

Toby let that sit for a while. "What are you waiting for?"

Maybe he was waiting to be sure Toby wanted him to stay.

Toby wiggled around, their skin slipping until he could see Elliot's face, not paying attention to the water teetering at the rim of the tub. "You've got a dozen horror stories playing in your head, don't you?"

"A couple of dozen."

"Only one of them can happen."

"Not true. Kathleen could tell me I'm going to burn in hell, and Elizabeth could hate me for betraying her mother, and Dickie could be too embarrassed to speak to me ever again."

Toby considered that, and then his mouth lifted. "Worrying about three problems is still a hell of a lot better than worrying about two dozen."

He could have resented Elliot's reluctance, but all he cared about was making it easier. Elliot loved this man. For him, staying wasn't a question. He leaned in and kissed him and Toby kept it going, slow and warm. Chris Keller was still lurking in the corners, but compared to how Elliot felt when he came through the door this evening... "How do you do it?"

Toby looked at him, blue eyes quizzical.

"How do you take the rage out of me?"

"Charm."

Elliot didn't want a pat answer. "Kathy hated it when I was that way. You just... shrug it off."

On command, Toby shrugged. "I've played poker with men who'd cut you for looking at them the wrong way. I've been an Aryan's whipping boy. I've lived through a prison riot. " Amusement sparkled in his eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, but your cranky mood isn't that intimidating."

Elliot didn't see Toby as any kind of wilting flower, but he couldn't see him playing poker with Whitlam, either. "I try to imagine it sometimes. You in there. Getting along with those men." Until Toby, Elliot had never tried to imagine how he would cope on the other side of the bars himself, keeping company with the men he put away every week. It hadn't taken him long to figure out he couldn't bend like that.

"You don't have a choice," Toby said, defensive, and Elliot realised how he must have sounded.

"I don't mean... I know that. I mean, you survived. You must have had something... I guess I wonder who all those other men saw." He wasn't trying to pry, just wondering aloud, but now the question hung in the air, and Elliot hoped.

"I don't want you to imagine me in there."

Elliot was saying it all wrong. He thought he'd ruined the moment, but after half a minute, Toby kept going.

"What everyone did outside... It didn't matter. You don't talk about what got you in there; there's no jizz talking about what you did on the outside, only what you'll do on the inside. Getting along is mostly just boredom. Everyone just wants to pass the time, and if you're not going to make trouble, if talking to you won't make trouble for them, then you're okay."

"And when it's not boring?"

"There's safety in being a little crazy."

Elliot smiled, but Toby didn't.

He turned away again, sitting forward in the water and resting his arms on his knees. "I understand anger, El. I've been an animal. Biting, scratching, indiscriminate rage like a raccoon in a trap. I've hurt people. I've tried to shove a shank in my own lover. I know what it is to have that rage inside, and when it's got control nobody can reason you out of it."

"I thought you stabbed Chris before you..." After Keller broke his arms, Toby shanked him, forgave him, and then they became lovers. That was what Toby said just a few days after Elliot found out what Keller was. It was burned into Elliot's memory.

A short sigh said Toby didn't realise he'd let something fresh slip out. "I did. This was the second time. They told me he was the one who took Gary and Holly. The FBI, my parents, my source on the inside. Everyone told me, and I believed them. I believed he did that to my children."

Elliot had no trouble believing a man who'd done what he'd seen in those photos would hurt children, but the anguish in Toby's voice said differently. He shoved down the revulsion that always rose with the spectre of Chris Keller's deeds, put his hands on Toby's shoulders and drew him back into the cooling water. "He forgave you."

"He saved me." Water-wrinkled fingers stroked Elliot's arm. "Eventually."

Eventually. And in between was god-knew-what.

Elliot wanted to tell him it didn't matter a damn if he wounded the feelings of a serial killing monster. Elliot spent half his days and most of his soul trying to find a connection with men like that in the hope of pricking some withered piece of conscience in order to put the bastards in some place like Oz. Toby had found a direct line, and he was killing himself over not trusting the guy enough.

They both jumped when the phone screeched in the quiet, and water sloshed onto the floor as Toby snatched it up. "Holly?" Elliot kept a hand on his back. "Okay. Are you all right?" A moment. "I'm on my way."

Toby stood and grabbed a towel, rubbing himself dry as he headed out. Elliot climbed out after him, pulled the plug and mopped the floor a little before following. He dried himself as he went, to find Toby already half-dressed, frantically searching for something. "Where are we going?"

Toby snatched up his wallet from the nightstand. "Brooklyn Heights."

"Is she all right?"

"She just said she wants to come home."

Elliot dragged his jeans up damp legs, rejected his sweaty tank top and borrowed one of Toby's. Maybe it was time to start leaving clothes here.

 

Elliot parked in front of a row of expensive terraces. "I'll wait in the car." He cracked the window.

"She's right there."

Holly was sitting on the steps of her friend's house, surrounded by lit pumpkins. She was bundled up against the cold with her arms wrapped around herself, flanked by an Arab girl on one side and a Caucasian girl on the other - the infamous Aisha and Kelly, Elliot assumed. There were a couple of slightly older boys keeping watch from the steps above. Toby was already out the door, crossing the street to bob down in front of her.

Even from here, in the shadows of the street lights Elliot could see she'd been crying, but she was calm now. They talked for a moment, and then everyone stood. Toby squeezed her friend's shoulder, and nodded to the boys, and sent them all back inside before he pulled Holly into his arms and held her for a long time.

Toby kept her close as they walked over, and Holly clung to him. They were halfway across the street when she saw Elliot. Holly pulled out of Toby's embrace, face darkening. "Why is he here?"

"He was with me when you called."

"I'm not going with him."

Elliot shrank in his seat, and wished they'd started this further away where he wouldn't hear every word.

"Holly..."

"I'm not!"

Toby sighed. "Do you expect me to call a taxi while I send him back to Queens?"

She let her silence answer.

"You didn't let your fears keep you from coming to this party tonight. You can't let them lock me away, either."

She held her ground for another thirty seconds, and then she marched over to get in behind Elliot and slammed the door. Hard.

Elliot decided to keep quiet. He'd thought they were on a better footing than this, since he gave her Cragen's card.

Toby dropped into his seat, and as he reminded Holly to fasten her seatbelt the stink of cigarettes spread through the car. Elliot felt his nose wrinkle; he looked across but Toby wouldn't meet his gaze.

He left his window open and concentrated on driving while Toby tried to make conversation, asking about the boys who'd waited outside with her, Aisha's mother, what there'd been to eat. Holly answered everything in monosyllables.

Elliot felt like an intruder. She and Toby needed to talk about what went wrong, but it wasn't going to happen in front of him. 

He pulled up at Toby's and left the key in the ignition as Holly slithered out to wait on the sidewalk. "I'll head home."

Toby let go of the door handle, turning back to face Elliot. "Stay."

"Holly doesn't need-"

"I do."

Elliot caught his breath. "All right." If Toby could just tell Elliot he needed him that emphatically now and then, Elliot wouldn't need a declaration of love. He pulled the key and followed them up.

 

Upstairs he went straight to Toby's bedroom, let Holly have her space. He changed into a pair of sweatpants, put a trigger lock on his gun, tidied up the weight bench he'd abandoned earlier, browsed through the bookshelves. Realised he didn't know how long Toby would be with Holly, so he headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and almost ran into Holly coming out. She dipped her head to hide her red eyes and freshly-washed face and swerved silently around him, hurrying for her room.

"Holly." He couldn't just hang back in silence.

She paused, looking somewhere off to his left.

"It was brave of you to go tonight."

Her gaze moved closer.

"And it was smart to know when you needed to leave. Everyone's scared of something, Holly. Not everyone is smart or brave enough to deal with it. I know it feels like you're always being dragged back, but you're going to be all right."

She blinked a few times. "Goodnight Elliot."

It wasn't much, but it was something. "Sleep well." Elliot headed in to the mess they'd left in their hasty exit from the bath, wondered how Holly had felt about that. He tidied up and dumped the wet towels in a corner, brushed his teeth and pissed and went to bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby waited until Holly was asleep, and then he waited longer, until her breathing was slow and even, her mouth hanging wide, her head slumped. He stood carefully, to be sure her desk chair wouldn't creak, and headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth by nightlight, and then found Elliot sprawled just the same. Toby was grateful he'd stayed, and grateful that Holly hadn't made too much of a fuss.

Toby took the cigarette pack from his pocket and laid it on the nightstand. He'd told Holly they would deal with that issue in the morning, though god knew what he could do. It was a round of ghost stories that had sent her out of there, but Kelly and Aisha had stuck with her, and the boys on the stairs had seemed kind. Toby was still going to worry about them introducing her to drugs and alcohol too soon, but at least he knew they were loyal.

He was wide awake on the buzz of anxiety since Holly's call, was tempted to just sit back and watch, enjoy the soft snores and the shape of Elliot under the bulky comforter, but the lure of all that warmth was too much. He stripped and left his clothes on the floor for the morning, tried not to disturb the bed as he wriggled in ass first, but Elliot's snore broke off into a quiet grumble, and then a sleepy curse as Toby pressed his cool body to Elliot's toasty furnace. Elliot rolled up to curl against his back anyway, and wrapped an arm around him. "'ll right?"

"She's okay." More let down that she had sat out the party than suffering from any kinds of traumatic after-effects.

"'n' you?"

Toby's chest swelled. He hadn't been ready for that question.

Elliot turned him until his face was buried under Elliot's prickly jaw and squeezed him tight. Toby slid a leg over Elliot's and burrowed in, letting the sharp edge of jaw rasp against his ear, that hot skin warm his hands, not ashamed to take the comfort. "You doin' 'kay," Elliot slurred, "'ove you," and just a few breaths later he was snoring again.

Toby was well-awake, and not going to sleep any time soon.


	49. Family night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 48, Ghost stories:  
> After the rousing, bad-mood-curing sex, Elliot found out Toby had his own blues song: Holly at a Halloween party. Elliot took his turn to cheer things up by running a bath. As usual, Elliot shoved his own problems in a bottom drawer and doled out advice on Toby's instead, suggesting he take his kids to Vermont and teach them to ski before Mother sold the childhood vacation home.  
> Elliot conceded he was a little concerned about coming out to Kathleen and the twins.  
> Holly called to escape the scary Halloween party, and wasn't impressed to find Elliot was the chauffer, but he softened her a little. Toby comforted Holly as best he could, and then was grateful to slide in with Elliot.

Elliot had practised the talk a thousand times; he still didn't know how to start. So far his favourite imagined situation was where Maureen just blurted it out and he picked up the pieces, but she'd been shut tight, never anything more than a questioning look. 

At least, that's how it went until Sunday evening, when all the kids were all gathered around debating what board game to play. Elliot came out of the kitchen to throw in a vote for Settlers of Catan, and Maureen said, a little too loud, "Or we could just talk."

Elizabeth gave her a funny look. "About what?"

"About anything. This seems like a perfect time to talk about whatever's been going on in our lives, lately." She looked straight at Elliot. Yeah, it was. Everyone was gathered. Nobody was arguing right now, or trying to rush out the door, and two whole days away from psychopaths and Cragen's wary supervision had settled Elliot's nerves. He tossed the dish towel back at the kitchen counter, and came out to sit with them. "I've got something to talk about."

Three pairs of curious eyes stared at him, and Elliot seized up. It wasn't too late to blow this off, go back to keeping this a secret. Toby would understand.

Maureen gave him a reassuring nod as she slipped around to sit beside Kathleen. She wouldn't let him get away with it.

He wished he'd planned this better, scripted something out, maybe. "I've been dating someone."

Kathleen looked angry. Elizabeth was shocked. Dickie seemed indifferent.

"Serious dating? asked Kathleen.

"Pretty serious."

"Like you're going to marry her?" asked Lizzie.

"No! No, nothing like that. But serious enough that I'd like you to meet..." ...him.

"I don't want to."

"I do!" said Kathleen, but she sounded more indignant than supportive. "How long have you been keeping this a secret?"

"I had to be sure I knew what I wanted before I talked to all of you."

"What about Mom?"

That was the question he'd been dreading. "Kathleen, your mother's got her life and she's moving-"

"No, I mean, does she know?"

"Yeah. She knows." He shifted in the chair. "I know the divorce was hard on you all. A lot of that is my fault. I'll always care about your mother, but we can't go back in time." He's always avoided this sort of talk, but now it was a way to procrastinate. Maybe he should stop here, let them get used to the idea of him dating someone, tackle the 'him' part later. He glanced at Maureen, who was nodding encouragingly. No, that wasn't an option.

"Is she a cop?" asked Kathleen.

"Is it Olivia?" asked Dickie.

"Olivia? No! Of course not!" He understood Kathy worrying about that, but he hadn't expected it from the kids. "It's not a cop. He works in real estate."

"What's her name?" Kathleen asked, as Dickie said, "He?"

Kathleen and Lizzie looked at Dickie, and then swung to look at Elliot. "It isn't a woman," he said. They all stared at him in confusion, incapable of making the leap to the alternative. "It's a man."

Their jaws dropped, and even Dickie lost his indifferent mask. 

Kathleen broke the silence in the end. "You're gay?"

"I'm..." He was ashamed he couldn't pick a word in front of his kids, wished he had Toby's casual relationship with categories instead of sitting here, staring dumbly at his daughter.

Maureen saved him. "Why do you have to put a label on it, Kathleen?"

"Well, was he in the closet all these years with Mom, or wasn't he?"

"You really think he was faking it with Mom?"

"He just said he's gay!"

"No, you said-"

"Stop! Please!" Elliot had to fight his urge to cover his ears. "Toby's the only... This is new, all right?"

"How new?"

"Since March." He kept going, before she could ask. "I told you, I had to be sure."

Kathleen wrinkled her nose. "You don't just turn gay for your fortieth birthday."

"I would have said the same a year ago." He was sure he did say something like that to Toby, early on.

Maureen sighed. "What does it matter, Kathleen?"

Kathleen frowned at her. "How come you don't think this is totally weird?" It only took Maureen's hesitation for her to realise, and for Elliot to brace himself. "You knew! Oh my god! How long have you known?" Maureen looked at Elliot, so Kathleen looked at Elliot. "You told her first?"

"It just came up, Kathleen. It wasn't a conspiracy." Elliot prayed Maureen was sharp enough to keep her mouth shut about meeting him.

"It just came up that you said, 'Maureen, I've actually been gay all these years, but don't tell Kathleen.'"

"I haven't... I wasn't... Believe me, it's taken me this long to get used to the idea." He took a slow breath. He couldn't screw this up. "I loved your mother. I still do."

Elizabeth jumped to her feet and ran out. Damn. "Liz!" Elliot started to stand, but Maureen waved him down.

"I'll go."

Elliot hesitated, torn, but Maureen was already halfway to the bedroom, so he slumped back down. He could trust her. He wished he'd taken them all on one at a time, so he could separate Kathleen's anger from Elizabeth's fears from... whatever was going on in Dickie's mind. Dickie was staring moodily off at the wall. "You're being quiet."

He shrugged. "We don't get a vote, do we? What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know."

"There's never been anything between me and Olivia. Never." He was glad there hadn't been, so he could say that honestly, but he couldn't tell if Dickie believed him.

"I can't believe you told Maureen first," Kathleen said again.

"Is that all that matters?"

"It matters," she sulked.

The room was quiet, game night abandoned. Elliot supposed it had gone better than most of the disasters he'd imagined. So far. Neither Kathleen or Dickie was looking at him, and the conversation felt unfinished.

"His name is Toby."

They both looked up.

"He lives in Brooklyn with his eleven year-old daughter Holly. He has a younger son in California." Elliot searched for something else to say. "He's curious about all of you." Silence. "There must be something you want to know."

Dickie traced the seam on the leg of his jeans. 

Kathleen looked at Dickie, then decided to take up the slack. "When did you tell Mom?"

That was a complicated question. Elliot went with, "August," when he'd sat on the back steps and told her it was over.

"What did she say?"

She hadn't said much. What was there to say? "She was surprised."

"I'll bet. I don't get it. How do you just... starting liking guys?"

"I don't know." He wished he had a better answer. "I guess I just met someone who changed my mind."

"When are we going to meet him?"

"Soon." He was going to give them some time to get used to the idea, first. He wasn't going to let Toby take the brunt of Kathleen's resentment.

 

Elliot was tidying the kitchen when Maureen came out. She took a cloth and started wiping the counters. "How are Kathleen and Dickie taking it?"

"Honestly? I don't know." He hadn't expected them to be happy about it. Neither of them had stormed out. Maybe they were just confused. "And Lizzie?"

"She's scared of change. She's only just got used to you and Mom living apart. Now you're in love with a stranger, and she's worried whether she'll like him and if you're going to move further away." Elliot felt his eyebrows climb. Maybe he should employ Maureen to get information out of Kathleen and Dickie. She poked his rib. "You're not going to argue with me this time, for saying you love him?"

"No. I love him. Lizzie's right: change is scary."

"Like turning gay for your fortieth birthday?"

He cringed, uncomfortable with the delight she was taking in all this. "Your romantic life isn't supposed to be something you discuss with your kids."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to be with your mother."

"That ship has sailed, Dad."

"I know." Elliot heaved a sigh. "I should go talk to Lizzie."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alone at last. As soon as he'd swapped his contacts for glasses and stripped down to his shorts and undershirt, Toby flopped back on the bed and tipped his head to see Elliot. "I was starting to think Holly was going to come and supervise us in here."

Elliot stretched out beside him. He looked delicious tonight: he'd kicked off his jeans but still had that knitted blue pullover stretched over his chest. Toby had been aching to get his hands under it all evening. "She's going to be in the bathroom all night, with all those glasses of water she had to get after you made her go to bed."

Toby grinned and wriggled closer. Holly's attitude was fading and the glares were mostly gone, but she didn't trust Elliot out of her sight yet. "My dad did the same thing when I was fifteen, dating Minnie Fitzgerald."

"You dated a girl called Minnie?"

"Got to third base." Minnie's parents had been paying less attention than his. Toby rolled on his side and hooked his knee over Elliot's bare thigh. "Hello."

A smile spread over Elliot's face. "How are you?"

"I'm feeling pretty good. I'm taking my kids to Vermont for Thanksgiving."

Elliot's smile lit up, and he bounced up on one elbow. "Really?"

"The parole board cleared me, and I'm talking to Jonah and Marta about dates."

"That's great!"

"I've been bursting to tell you all night, but I haven't talked to Holly yet. I don't know if I should get her excited about Vermont first, or break the news that she's sharing it with Harry."

Elliot raised an eyebrow "Just you and the kids? How's your mother taking it?"

Perceptive man. "The last time she looked that disappointed with me, I was in handcuffs." Maybe this ran third to her finding out he was on heroin, but it was a close call. "I promised her she'd have us for Christmas." Disappointing Mother had been nothing on breaking the news to Jonah and Marta. They hated it, of course, but they couldn't say no. Every conversation since Harry's birthday from hell had been icy, and that probably wouldn't change unless Toby announced he was sending Holly to military school.

"How's Holly been sleeping since Halloween?"

"She's been fine. She knew when she needed to take herself out of the situation." He wished she didn't need to handle her fears, but knowing she could had been a big shot of confidence for both of them.

"Is she having problems with other kids at school?"

"Not as far as I know." Toby had worried about the repercussions, even made a few discreet calls, but Holly seemed okay. It sounded like going to a seventh-grade party had earned her some jizz with the sixth-graders, and the older kids had been nice enough to keep quiet about her running out.

Elliot stretched his arms over his head, his fuzzy sweater riding up his stomach to expose his treasure trail, and then he reached down to scratch right there. Tease. "I saw the cigarettes on the nightstand that morning."

Toby rubbed his face. That was a lot harder to deal with.

"Did you ground her until college?"

Toby snorted, and pulled his hands away. "No. I've taken the grand tour of the government's war on drugs. I'm not starting one with my daughter."

Elliot was staring at him like he was an alien. "So you just let it go?"

Sometimes he was such a damned cop. "I talked to her. I talked about how hard it is to break addiction, how the years of drinking and months of drugs still follow me." She hadn't said much to that, but Toby was hoping it would soak in. "I asked her why she smoked that night."

"What did she say?"

It had taken some pushing, but she'd let it out in the end. "She said it gives her an excuse to go somewhere else when there's too much going on. Better to be too cool to stick around, than too anxious. So we talked about other things she could do - call me or Mother, or go somewhere to draw. And I told her it's time to choose a couple of teachers at St Edith's to know about her history." He'd rather she escaped into a corner of the art room under a teacher's eye than out behind the gym to smoke.

"Do you really think that's going to work?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"I don't know. Does yelling at Kathleen work?"

Elliot didn't answer.

"How are yours doing?" That was the other thing that had been gnawing at Toby all evening, as they made Holly-safe conversation under her suspicious watch in the other room. Elliot's kids and the big coming out discussion. Elliot had told him it happened, but he'd been sparse with the details over the phone.

Elliot's whole body swelled with his next breath. "It wasn't too bad. Kathleen mostly just seems angry that Maureen knew first. Lizzie's upset, but I don't know if even she knows why. Dickie doesn't seem to care at all. He won't talk about how he feels."

"He must get that from his mother."

"Kathy doesn't- Oh. Funny." He dug a finger in Toby's side.

That all sounded a hell of a lot better than what Elliot had been afraid of. "Does this mean I need to clear an evening for dinner with the Stablers?"

"No." He said it very fast. "Not just yet."

"All right." Toby wished Elliot was a little more eager to introduce everyone, but he was chickenshit enough to be a little grateful for the wait. He swung between being eager to meet three younger versions of Maureen, warm and unruffled, and dreading a pack of angry mini Stablers, all blaming him for ruining their dreams of family reconciliation by turning their dad gay.

But for now, that was still Elliot's problem. Toby put his hand on Elliot's chest, soft fuzzy wool over solid muscle, and started it heading south. He'd been aching to get his hands on Elliot all night.

Elliot looked towards the door. They'd never done it with Holly home.

Toby slid his hand down soft wool to the cotton stretched over Elliot's soft cock. "She's asleep."

Elliot looked like he wanted to argue, so Toby lifted an eyebrow and waited. No way had Elliot stopped fucking Kathy once Maureen was born, and Holly was no different to Elliot's kids, so unless Elliot was going to lie there and explain how straight fucking was different to gay fucking, Toby wanted some action tonight.

Toby just massaged the soft package in his briefs and let it all play out behind Elliot's eyes. And when Elliot let it go, Toby leaned in and kissed him, let Elliot pull him closer. Without breaking the kiss, Toby worked Elliot's briefs down to his thighs one-handed, and returned to play with his roly-poly balls. Toby broke the kiss and leaned up to watch what he was doing, see Elliot's thighs spread, his cock lengthening under the attention. "I don't think I've ever told you what a nice cock you have." When it grew it was long and thick with a fat round head, not absurdly big but when Toby eventually got it up his ass, he was going to feel it all the way.

"You have a talented hand."

Toby drew his hand up the length, gave the head a little tug, watched it grow some more. "Spent the evening wondering whether it would be very wrong to send Holly out on an errand, so I could get my hands in your pants."

"That would be wrong." Elliot closed his eyes and grunted as Toby's hands worked him. Full size, now, and Toby measured it with his hands, imagined how it would feel cracking him open, grinding inside his ass.

Elliot's hand was wrapped in the comforter, and whenever Toby gave him a little something extra, a gentle twist or a scrape of fingernail, Elliot's fingers tightened. "A really nice cock..."

Elliot hesitated, and Toby looked up to see he was watching Toby's face.

"What is it?"

Elliot wet his lips. "Do you still think about me... fucking you?"

"You don't mean that in the all-purpose sense, do you?"

"No. I mean penetration."

Toby slid his fingers up Elliot's length. "Do you really want to talk about this now?"

"Sorry. I guess this was a bad time to bring this up."

Toby took his hand off Elliot's cock. "Yeah, I'd much rather you keep on stewing in silence."

Elliot wrinkled his nose, obviously thinking that was a perfectly reasonable option, but he kept going anyway. "Does it bother you that I won't do that?"

"It doesn't bother me." What else was he supposed to say?

Elliot stared at Toby's chest. Quietly, he said, "But you want it. You want me to fuck you."

Of course he did. And hearing Elliot say it like that, that word all shy and hesitant, lying on his back in his fuzzy blue sweater with his underwear around his knees made Toby's cock throb, but he knew better than to say so. Toby stopped trying distract him, pulled his hand away. "I'm happy with what we do. "

Elliot shook his head with a frown, jaw tight with frustration. "Be honest, Toby. You want me to do that to you."

"Yes! Of course I do, but if you don't-"

"Why?"

"Why?"

"I thought you'd put that stuff behind you. I thought you wanted better from me. I don't understand why you still want that."

"Because it feels good!" The words burst out. "The same reason you loved being inside your wife. The same reason Kathy wanted you in there. All the years you made love to Kathy, you can't imagine how it felt to her. There's nothing like it." The idea of Elliot pushing his cock inside Toby's ass made Toby's knees weak, and vice versa much the same.

Elliot looked disgusted, and Toby reminded himself not to take it personally. "I never did that to Kathy. I never hurt her in bed."

"It doesn't hurt when you do it right. It isn't degrading. I get why you see it that way but-"

"Are you going to tell me it was something holy when the dirtbags in Franco's took turns inside you?"

Toby's hands curled into fists. "Getting fucked in the ass was no different from getting fucked in the mouth, and you don't have a problem with that."

Elliot balked, and Toby's coiling rage subsided.

He wanted to argue it out, remind Elliot that everything he'd seen in his job was something sacred turned to shit, but it wouldn't get them anywhere. Toby knew better than anyone that you couldn't reason someone out of the aftermath of violation. So instead he straddled Elliot's thighs and stripped off his undershirt, flexed a little and watched Elliot's eyes drop to his chest. Elliot wasn't as ribald as Chris, but there were other things to enjoy, like knowing Toby was the one who converted Elliot from breasts to hard muscles and a scattering of body hair. "Yes. I want you to fuck me. I want to fuck you. But I also want to suck this beautiful cock and eat your ass. I want to lick every inch of your body, work my way from your toes and fingers into the centre and cram both of these balls in my mouth." Toby cupped them, let them roll in his fingers. Elliot's cock was starting to get back in the game. "I want to feel you rock hard between my thighs. I want to hear those sexy whimpers you make when you're close to the edge, keep you there for hours and see how long I can listen. I want to do everything. Everything you do turns me on. And there's enough on that list to keep me occupied with ways to come in you," he kissed him, "and on you," again, "and under you. You can stop worrying that I'm going to push you for something you don't want to give. I'm not going to make you feel dirty or used. I'm going to make you feel good." Yeah, the glaze of lust in Elliot's eyes was enough to keep Toby going for now. "And if one day you trust me enough to put this in my ass, then that'll just be the cherry on top."

Strictly speaking, Toby supposed, Elliot's ass was the cherry, but he doubted Elliot would appreciate the humour.

He nibbled Elliot's lip, pressed their cocks together. "So how about you stop telling me what you don't want, and show me what you do?"

Elliot smiled, and rolled Toby under him.


	50. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 49, Family night:  
> Maureen decided it was time for Elliot to break the Toby news to the rest of the kids, and, unable to bring himself to escape out a window, Elliot did just that. Nobody responded well, but nobody escaped out the window, either. At least Maureen was firmly in Toby's corner.  
> After an evening chaperoned by Holly, Toby and Elliot got to flop on the bed in privacy. Toby was booking Thanksgiving in Vermont with his kids and working on a health-based approach to Holly's nicotine habit. Elliot decided to be okay with having sex while Holly was home, but remained not okay with ass sex, ever.

Elliot shoved the scumbag into the wall again, this fucking piece of shit that could beat the hell out of drunk college girls but he cowered when a bigger man got in his face, why don't you try your twisted games on me you little fucking prick, gonna put you in prison 'til you fucking rot...

"Elliot!" A voice in the distance.

Snapping his teeth in the dirtbag's face, crowding him in. Show me what a big man you are, Weber, you inadequate prick, hit me, go on, take a free shot-

"Elliot!"

Pulling hands, pulling him back. He wasn't done, wasn't finished until this insect was crying like the girls he destroyed.

"Detective Stabler!"

Elliot's head turned, and through the parting fog he realised it wasn't the first time the captain had called his name. Finn and Cragen were pressed against him, blocking his way. Finn didn't know Elliot liked men pressed against him, these days.

"Elliot, get the hell out here!"

Elliot looked back at Weber, clinging to the wall behind Olivia, white-faced and chanting, "Want a lawyer, want a lawyer, want a lawyer," like a mantra.

Fuck.

Elliot stumbled out of the interview room. Fuck.

People staring, Novak and Huang and Elliot didn't know who the other one was. Rage was roaring in his ears, charging in his veins, driving him to storm back in there and teach Weber a lesson, and Elliot couldn't catch his breath.

"-the hell was that, Elliot? You had him in the palm of your hand! We haven't got a damn thing without a confession and you-" The captain's words were running together, and Elliot wanted him to shut the hell up, stop babbling.

"It was no good," Elliot snapped, and there was sudden, blessed quiet, and Elliot had to go.

Through the pen, refuge in the men's bathroom, empty except for the chemical stink of industrial cleaners. He leaned on the sink and gasped for breath, locked his eyes on the drain and tried to shove it down, couldn't do it. He wanted to smash his fist into the mirror, feel the blunt thud and then the sharp relief of split skin. He wanted to break his knuckles on Weber's face, give him a taste of how it felt for the girls he disfigured. He lifted his head and Chris Keller stared back from the mirror, hateful and dangerous. That was the face Toby loved. If Elliot tipped over the edge, let his inner monster loose, would Toby love him then?

You'll always be the substitute, said the face in the mirror. You think he'll ever look at you and not remember how much he loved me?

You're a fucking murderer.

I killed for Toby, and he loved it. 

Elliot screwed his eyes shut.

He won't admit it, but he loved it. Maybe he's waiting for that same killer in you.

"Elliot?"

He gripped the sink. "You saw the sign on the door, right, Liv?"

"Yeah, I learned to read when I was four. Talk to me."

Elliot took a long breath, let it out. 

I'm tired of being a monster.

He shook his head.

She came closer, stopped a couple of feet away. "Last night's victim... She looks like Kathleen."

He knew Olivia had seen his reaction when they walked into the hospital room. A pretty blonde freshman who'd been out making the most of her new fake ID when Weber seduced her, now with two black eyes and still afraid her father would blow his top when he heard about the drinking and how she'd been dressed.

Olivia asked, "Is that what got to you?"

Would Kathleen be afraid to call him if someone hurt her?

Yes, it got to him, but not in the way Olivia thought. That was just what set him off, what gave him the excuse to let out his inner Chris Keller. When they'd collared Weber, Elliot had hungered to get to the interrogation. He couldn't wait to scare the shit out of the little smart ass. He loved doing it.

Elliot opened his eyes and met his reflection, and he was disgusted. He was violent. Manipulative. Tainted. Every muscle in his body was locked, shaking with the strain. If Olivia wasn't here, he would have put his fist right through that face. "I need to get out of here."

"Do you want me to drive you to Toby's?"

"No." That was the last place he wanted to be right now. The last place after here, anyway. He didn't want to go home to his empty apartment and his twisted, ugly thoughts. Didn't want to go near his kids. Didn't want to be anywhere near himself.

The pressure was building.

"I need to get out of here."

"You don't just mean right now, do you?"

He jerked around, turned his back on the mirror, bent forward. "I can't do it anymore, Liv. I can't. This job. I can't live inside their heads anymore." He pressed his palms to his eyes until he saw lights.

"El..." He stayed where he was but he knew exactly the wide-eyed look on her face as she struggled for an answer. She couldn't tell him it wasn't that bad, that he could handle it, that he just had to get through. She knew better. "Why don't you take a few days off?"

"That's not going to-"

"I know. Believe me, I know." Of course she did. "I just don't want you making a decision like that right now. Take a few days, see your kids, talk to Toby."

He couldn't talk to Toby.

"And then whatever you decide, I've got your back."

His throat closed up.

"I'll go explain to Cragen."

"No." He wasn't sneaking out of here like a fuck-up. "No, I'll talk to him."

He'd face the captain, and then he was going to drive out to Queens to see his counsellor. That was the adult thing to do, right?

Elliot kept his eyes averted as he turned back to the sink and splashed water over his face, around behind his neck. Focused on the chill, wrapped on the old mask of control. He could fake this for five minutes. He had to, because if he lost it in Cragen's office now he'd be lucky to stay on as a traffic cop.

Olivia followed him out and stayed by his side as they crossed the pen, until he reached over and waved her back. He let himself into the captain's office, and knew she was right outside.

Cragen came in right after him, circled his desk and regarded him for a long time, struggling to decide whether to play hard-ass boss or understanding mentor.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I was out of control. I think... I think I should take a few days. Get my head on straight."

A slow nod. "I was going to say the same thing. We've run this scene before, Elliot. You get out of control; I rein you in, we both say never again. It has to stop."

Elliot stared at the desk.

"You've been working this beat for fourteen years. That's an awfully long time."

Elliot looked up. Was Cragen saying what Elliot thought he was saying?

"Is there anything I should know?"

"No."

"I don't want to see you again until Monday." Elliot nodded. "When was the last time you had a vacation?"

Elliot shuffled through his memory. Pete Breslin's son, must have been a year ago now, Cragen ordering him out. Seeing Pete beat his son and that wave of rage, until the police pulled Elliot off his bloodied friend. "I took a few days back-"

"I'm not talking about using your vacation days. I'm talking about taking a vacation. Going somewhere with your kids, having a weekend away with your- With your friend. Enjoying your life."

Elliot stared at the floor. He couldn't have guessed.

"Take your few days, sort yourself out. When you come back, we're going to talk about scheduling some vacation time. For everybody's sanity."

Vacation. Not a transfer. Elliot didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed, but Cragen seemed to be done, so he headed for the door.

"Elliot."

He turned back.

"Leave your gun and badge."

Elliot took them out, laid them on the desk.

"If you want to leave your other piece, I'll lock it up for you."

Elliot's head jerked up, and he realised there was something more than the usual concern on the Captain's face. He thought Elliot might eat his gun. Christ. He wasn't there yet. But he couldn't bring himself to say so aloud, to admit that it had crossed either of their minds. He reached down for his ankle piece and added it to the pile.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby stared in surprise at Elliot, striding across the park towards him. Elliot had never stopped by work before. He didn't look like he was here to be sociable.

He settled next to Toby on the bench, pulling his coat tighter. "It's a little chilly for a picnic, isn't it?"

"I've got my scarf." Winter was going to chase Toby back inside eventually, but he was going to hold on to his outdoors lunches for as long as he could. He offered his thermos to Elliot. "Soup? It's chicken and vegetable."

"No. Thanks."

There had to be something going on to drag Elliot out to Brooklyn in the middle of the day, but Toby hadn't gauged whether he wanted to be pushed or not. He screwed the lid back on his soup, put it aside. "When I first got out, I spent every second I could outside. Rain, snow, storms, didn't matter. I wanted all of it. Mother was worried I was going crazy." Elliot could be nudged around the edges, maybe. "I didn't expect you to be free today. Did you wrap up that case last night?"

A guilty shift piqued Toby's curiosity. "I wasn't working last night."

But that was exactly what Elliot had said was going on when he cancelled. Toby had been disappointed at losing a night to themselves, and Elliot had said something about an important lead, and he'd rushed to get off the phone. "Are you going to lie to me every time you have a bad day, Elliot?"

Elliot's jaw worked, but he didn't answer. At least that was honest. He took a deep breath, let it out. "I'm taking a few days off work."

The desolate tone dissolved Toby's irritation. "What happened?"

Elliot stared off at the traffic across the park.

"Elliot?"

It looked like he was chewing out the words. "I screwed up."

"Are you in trouble?"

Elliot shook his head, and Toby couldn't tell how much that was a 'no', how much it was blowing off the question. "I screwed up an interrogation yesterday, let it get out of hand."

"What does that mean?" Did he beat the guy? Was he facing assault charges?

"I think if I hadn't asked for the days, Cragen would have shoved me out the door."

And Elliot left it until today, huddled on a bench in the park, to tell him all this? Where the hell had he been the last twenty-four hours? "How bad is it? Is your job on the line?"

Elliot took an uncomfortably long time to consider that. Toby wanted to touch him, rub his back or squeeze his hand, show Elliot he'd be there either way, but they were on a park bench during lunch hour, and even in early November, that didn't count as private.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring down at the ground. "It's fine. I just needed to get out of there. Clear my head."

"And is it?"

Elliot looked at him, questioning.

"Clearing? Or is your head just spinning in circles, dragging you deeper?"

Elliot looked away.

Toby wished he could shake the words out of him. Elliot hated talking about the job, but he'd been starting to trust Toby with his anger. "Do you know what set you off?"

Elliot shook his head. He knew.

Toby huffed. "Why did you come here, if you didn't want to talk to me?"

"I do," he growled, but nothing followed.

"Have you talked to Olivia about it?"

It didn't take a psychic connection to read that grimace. Elliot wasn't going to talk to anyone, was just going to stew.

"Things don't just magically get better, Elliot."

"I know." Elliot's phone rang, and he grasped for it like he was grateful for the interruption. So much for taking a few days off. "Stabler." He sat straighter. "Captain?" The colour washed out of his face and he was on his feet. "I'm on my way." He shoved the phone away. "Olivia's been in an accident. She's on her way to Mercy General."

"Is she all right?" Of course she wasn't. Toby stood up. "I'll come with you." It was a ludicrous offer; he realised as soon as the words escaped. What was he going to do, pretend to be Olivia's cousin?

"No, you stay. I'll call you."

He headed for his car at a run, and Toby was left, useless, on the bench. It was only as the car pulled away that Toby realised that when Elliot parted his jacket for his phone, there'd been no gold badge on his belt.


	51. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 50, Reflection:  
> Elliot's job of intimidating a college rapist got an eensy bit out of control. After being dragged off by Cragen and Finn, Elliot stumbled off the bathroom to stare at the reflection of a monster. Chris Keller was too fucking close, and the job was dragging Elliot ever-closer. Olivia calmed him enough to go tell Cragen he had to get out for a few days. Cragen suggested he leave his badge and guns behind.  
> It took a full day before Elliot went to (sort of) tell Toby about it, but he was interrupted by news that Olivia was headed to hospital.

The elevator let Toby out into a long white corridor of an alien world. Gridded whiteboards filled with long words, futuristic machines on trundle wheels, hushed footsteps, hushed voices, hushed lights. Someone was moaning in one of the darkened rooms. The young nurse muttered about visiting hours, until Toby explained that he was here for the guy they couldn't kick out. She pointed him along to the fourth door on the right. He'd waited until late to come, to be sure no one else would be around.

Toby lingered in the doorway, watching Elliot watch Olivia. He was hunched in a chair by the wide bed, hands tucked in his lap, lit by the light pooling from the open bathroom door. His usual bulk had faded into the room, leaving him small.

Olivia was lying stiff and straight, head sickly pale and swathed in bandages, a cobweb of wires tying her to machines of bouncing LEDs and bags of fluids.

Toby said "Elliot," softly as he came in, and Elliot's head turned in a daze.

"Toby. What are you doing here?" Elliot's tone was hushed, too. Hospital voices.

"Didn't know if you'd eat out of the vending machines or not at all, wasn't sure which was worse." He held up a take-out container, a thermos of decent coffee balanced on top. "Holly and I cooked a stir-fry. It's Mongolian lamb. It's good."

"You've got Holly at home? You should go."

"She's okay. We've got time." Toby pulled the bed's swing table close to Elliot.

Elliot frowned, irritated, like Toby was breaking his concentration on wishing Olivia well. "I'm not hungry."

Maybe it wasn't just Holly that made Elliot want Toby gone. "How does it help Olivia if you don't take care of yourself?" Toby peeled the lid off the stir fry, pressed the fork into Elliot's hand. "I know you don't care if you eat, but I do, so how about you do it just to keep me happy?"

"Toby, I'm not-"

"If you let me bully you into taking care of yourself, you'll have that much more right to bully her when she wakes up."

Elliot finally met his gaze, just a hint of frustration and a wry smile. "She has no one else to be here."

"She has you." Elliot didn't need to explain. Toby didn't want to be the sole, obsessive focus of Elliot's life. "I wasn't going to try to drag you out. Just make you eat." Toby waited pointedly for Elliot to put a fork full of dinner in his mouth, before he looked down at Olivia. "Is there any news?" Elliot had called at six to say she was out of surgery for an acute epidural hematoma. Some peeping tom had knocked her down a flight of stairs, boosting himself from a misdemeanour to a Class B felony and probably a beating from the squad.

And now Olivia was bound up in tubes and wires, and Elliot looked like he'd lost his best friend.

"The doctor said they got it early, but she hasn't woken up yet." He took a few more bites of food, sipped his coffee. "Munch said after it happened she seemed fine. She was trying to blow it off, insisted she only blacked out for a few seconds. Cragen had to order her into the care of the paramedics. She lost consciousness on her way to hospital."

Toby hovered near the foot of the bed, feeling out of place. He wished there was another chair. He wished there was something he could do, other than fuss at Elliot.

He wished he could finish the conversation from lunch. He was worried for Olivia and worried for Elliot worrying about Olivia but Toby still wanted to know what the hell had gotten Elliot into trouble. Did Elliot think Toby would be shocked at a cop beating a suspect? Did he think Toby would side with the con? After all the skeletons Toby had laid at Elliot's feet, did he think Toby would judge him? Toby had worked hard to regain Elliot's trust, but maybe he hadn't. Elliot cared about him but he didn't trust him with his job or his kids. Toby knew how that went.

"I'm supposed to be the one who gets hurt."

"She'd probably agree." Even as a grim joke, it turned Toby's stomach. He didn't know how he'd handle Elliot looking like that.

Toby stared at Olivia as Elliot ploughed through his dinner. She would have been the same old Olivia this morning, dressed with style, every hair in place, probably worrying about Elliot and his mandatory time off. Now this. A fragile thing in a hospital gown, half her hair and all of her dignity left on the floor of the operating room.

Elliot looked surprised when he realised his dinner was gone. "Thanks. I guess I needed that." He was looking more human, thank god. Toby couldn't do anything for Olivia, but he could take care of Elliot. She'd appreciate that.

"Have you been to the bathroom since you got here?"

"Am I five?"

"Have you been lately?"

The confused look was enough.

"Get out of here for five minutes. Go to the toilet, stretch your legs, breathe some New York exhaust."

"I'm not-"

Toby stepped close and chanced a hand on the back of Elliot's neck. "I'll stay with Olivia. Trust me, just a walk around the ward is going to make you feel stronger."

"All right." Elliot pushed himself to his feet like an old man, and immediately pulled Toby into a hug.

Toby had held back, unsure if Elliot wanted the comfort, if this place was private enough, but now he held on as tight as he could. He didn't have any comforting words so he just rubbed Elliot's back, pressed his lips to the sliver of skin behind Elliot's ear. Elliot's skin was warm and his grip was strong and his breath was unsteady but it was his. Toby realised he knew exactly what was going through Elliot's head. "There's no way you being there would have stopped this."

Elliot just held on, so Toby left it at that. Maybe if Elliot had been there, he'd be the one in the bed.

"Thank you." Rasped out as Elliot pulled away, keeping his face averted. "I won't be long. Call me if..." He slouched out of the room.

Toby wanted to chase after him.

He looked around, feeling how much he didn't belong. He settled in the chair still warm from Elliot's weight and tidied the take-out container into his bag and stared at the bruise-eyed woman in the bed just as Elliot had for the last six hours.

He'd spent half his evening researching epidural hematomas on the computer, but the internet had been impossibly vague on prognosis. Everything depended on something else. Surgery had gone well, but there was no telling with a head injury. It might be months before she was back to normal, or years. She might never go back to the force. She might wake up like Cyril O'Reilly, all that piercing intelligence wiped away, a child in its wake. And then what? She didn't have a brother to take care of her.

Toby knew all this was swirling around Elliot's head along with a good dose of guilt for not being by her side, and there was nothing they could do but wait.

This was the job they did. It could have been Elliot in that bed. Injured and facing an uncertain future, surrounded by terrified kids. Toby had to drag in his next breath. Would he even be welcome? He'd be the last to know, an afterthought when Olivia had a moment to spare. Maybe it would be just like this, sneaking into the ward in the dead of night so no one would know he was here.

 

A clearing throat roused him, and Toby stood automatically when he saw an bald, dough-faced cop in a suit and tie in the doorway. It took a second to place him, standing open-mouthed beside Olivia outside Franco's. Elliot's captain.

This was exactly what Toby had tried to avoid. Elliot was going to kill him. Toby prayed the captain didn't recognise him from that night. Sure. As if seeing his straight senior detective tending some cross dressing freak at a crime scene wouldn't stand out in his memory. Maybe Toby's flaming cheeks would disguise him long enough to make an escape. He stood up. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm Donald Cragen." He offered his hand but before Toby could fumble out an explanation, he said, "You must be Tobias."

Toby blinked. "I, uh, yes. I didn't expect..." Had Olivia told the captain his name? Olivia didn't call him Tobias. Neither did Elliot.

Cragen gave him a firm handshake. "He didn't tell you he gave me your name?"

"Today?"

"No..." Cragen looked flustered. "He asked me to make you his emergency contact. Off the record. He didn't tell you?"

"Uh, no." Really? Elliot did that? "He'll be back in a minute. He's just getting some air." Elliot had never mentioned telling anyone at work other than Olivia. Toby would have guessed Cragen would be the last on Elliot's list of confidantes. Elliot made Toby his next of kin?

Cragen walked up the other side of the bed to take a better look at Olivia, and Toby could see the air let out of him. Elliot had said he was the one who ordered her to get checked out; he probably saved her life. Cragen looked across the bed. "How's he doing?"

Toby shrugged. He was sure Cragen knew how Elliot took things. "He wishes he was the one in the bed."

"That much I could have guessed."

Toby sat down. It felt slightly surreal, being here in the dim night-lighting, making conversation with Elliot's boss. Elliot's boss, who'd seen Toby in bad drag in the meatpacking district, and yet Elliot had trusted him with Toby's details. He wondered how that conversation had gone, tried to imagine privacy-hoarding Detective Stabler explaining to his captain that the slut in the red dress was his homosexual lover.

Toby wasn't going to look the captain in the eye again. But Elliot had done it, and Toby wanted to kiss him for it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby was right. Elliot had needed to get out of that room. He pulled his coat tight as he stared out over the lights of the skyline, watching the crawl of headlights up Seventh Avenue from the hospital roof. He took deep lungfuls of the crisp night air, revived by the cold pressing his cheeks and reaching down his collar.

Olivia had to be okay. The job was everything to her, even more than for Elliot. She was the most fiercely independent person Elliot knew, and losing that, even for a while... He couldn't imagine her like that.

If Olivia was out of it, Elliot's decision whether to stay at SVU was going to be easy.

Something like terror bubbled in Elliot's gut. He was really thinking about this. He was standing on a precipice, and on one side was more of the same, endless frustration and rage until Toby left, just like Kathy, and on the other side was a yawning black void. What could he do if he didn't work SVU? Homicide? It didn't seem much better. White collar? No way. Vice, busting the women he'd spent fifteen years trying to protect? No way in hell. Maybe it was time to go into private security. The boredom would kill him. And how could he walk away from the Hollys of the world? The Tobys?

Thank god for Toby. Elliot wondered if he had any idea how much it meant that he'd come. With a coffee and a home-made dinner, and light chatter like seeing Olivia in that bed wasn't terrifying. Elliot needed to talk to him almost as much as he needed Liv to wake up. He'd been an idiot to think he couldn't. He had to tell Toby what the job was doing to him, what the shadow of Chris Keller was doing to him. Toby was right: his head was spinning in circles, and it was going to keep doing that until he trusted that Toby had... maybe not magic words, but at least some idea where north was. He didn't need to hide himself from Toby the way he hid himself from Kathy.

When Elliot got back down there he was going to hold Toby for about an hour, and then he was going to pour it all out. He didn't have to do this alone.

Elliot had had enough fresh air. What he needed now was Toby. He took the stairs two at a time back down to the ward, nodded to the nurses he passed in the gloomily-lit corridor, rounded the door to Olivia's room and froze. "Captain."

He wasn't ready for this.

"Elliot."

Elliot squashed the impulse to concoct a story. Cragen already knew who Toby was. Even that momentary urge, while Olivia lay injured between them, made Elliot feel petty and small. Toby had come all the way into the city to give him food and a break, and Elliot could have dismissed him as some casual acquaintance. Now Toby sat stiffly on the chair Elliot had left, looking uncomfortable but he didn't seem traumatised. No catastrophes, then, except the one unconscious in the bed. Olivia's eyes were sunken and dark, her jaw seemed too tight, like she'd withered since Elliot took his breather.

"How's she doing, Elliot?"

Elliot reminded himself of how calmly Cragen had taken Toby's cell number. Cragen didn't give a damn about Elliot's personal life; he was here for Olivia. "The same. The doc said not to hope for anything before morning." And there was no guarantee she'd wake then. Nothing new, since they spoke on the phone two hours ago.

Toby stepped away from the chair, silently, to offer it back. 

Elliot had had enough sitting, but everyone standing around like this made it feel more awkward. He shuffled in and sat, and Toby and the captain hovered, and they all listened to the hum and whirr of the machines. So much for that burst of enthusiasm for opening up to Toby. Elliot looked up, suddenly. "Are you sure Holly's all right at home?"

"She's fine." 

"Okay."

Cragen asked, "Holly's your daughter?"

"Yes. She's eleven. She has my number if she needs me, and the neighbour's a friend."

Elliot wanted to tell Toby he didn't need to justify himself, but it felt good to talk about something else. Elliot wasn't sure he could leave Elizabeth alone like that, but he secretly admired Toby's determination to teach Holly independence. Today he was grateful for it. "Have you talked to her about Vermont, yet?"

Toby smiled. "Yeah. She's excited. She's already making menu plans."

"That's good. Harry and all?"

"Even so."

Elliot hoped Toby would check Harry's dinner for spiders. The conversation petered out and the machines filled the silence until Cragen broke it. "You're going to Vermont?"

Elliot gave him his best warning scowl. He wasn't going to hide Toby, but he wasn't having Cragen butt in on his life. "Toby's going to Vermont." And that was none of his business.

As usual, the glare bounced right off Cragen, who just contemplated them both. "I was serious about that vacation time, Elliot. We'll discuss it when you get back."

They both looked at Olivia at that. Maybe Elliot wouldn't be back as soon as they thought.

Cragen shuffled his feet. "I should be going. I have to meet with the brass in the morning. It was a pleasure to meet you, Tobias."

"And you, sir," Toby replied, meek as a kitten. Meek as an ex-con to a police captain.

Cragen gave Elliot one last nod. "Call me if there's news." He touched Olivia's shoulder, and headed out.

Alone again. Everything Elliot had wanted to talk about when he was up on the rooftop was gone. He didn't want to think about the job, or Keller, or the future. He could deal with all that tomorrow. Tonight he just wanted to wait for Olivia to wake up, and to keep Toby near.

"How much longer can you stay?"

Toby blinked, and checked his watch. "I can manage another half an hour."

"I'll take it. Tell me about your plans for Vermont."


	52. Zombie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 51, Waiting:  
> Olivia had cracked her head worthy of emergency surgery, and was yet to wake up. Toby waited until late to visit, to feed Elliot and send him on a break. While he was gone Captain Cragen stopped by, and recognised Elliot's friend the cross dressing freak, and actually knew Toby's name, thanks to Elliot.  
> Elliot felt better after some air, ready to go back and take care of Olivia and to talk to Toby about why Keller was haunting him. Instead he found Cragen, and there was awkwardness. But there was Toby, and thank god for that.

Elliot stared at the wall, letting his eyes cross. He was too tired to think, too wired to doze. 

Plenty of people had passed through this morning: Cragen, Munch, Finn, Warner, Novak. A few more had called. He'd talked to Toby twice. She had more friends than she knew. But the morning stretched out, everyone was back at work, and it was just her and Elliot, and Elliot's wandering thoughts.

He'd whiled away an hour on the book of crossword puzzles Munch left, and then threw it aside. Elliot hated crossword puzzles, but it passed the time. Elliot hated passing time. He wanted to do something. He would have begged Cragen to pass him some phone records to check through.

It seemed ridiculous to be bored when Olivia was lying in front of him, head wrapped in bandages. Liv might never wake up.

He gritted his teeth, pushed that away. Liv was gonna be fine.

This wasn't his fault. Every time someone said it, he believed it less. He hadn't been there to back her up because he was a son of a bitch who couldn't control his temper. It had to change. He was going to change, somehow. He was about to promise it out loud when he noticed Olivia was watching him through heavy eyes. Open eyes.

Elliot caught her hand and fought the urge to squeeze, couldn't manage to get out a single word.

One side of her mouth lifted. "Whatever it... not your fault."

The breath rushed out of him. She was okay. "Everything's always my fault." He didn't let go as he reached back for the chair, and then he changed his mind and just settled half his ass on the bed. He didn't want to be any further away.

"Thirsty." Her voice was barely more than a croak.

"Here. The nurses have been leaving ice chips; that's all you can have." He took a piece from the cup and slid it into her mouth, and buzzed the call button.

"What happened?"

"You took a tumble down the stairs, hit your head."

"Hurts."

Elliot guessed brain surgery probably did. "Your guy's locked down. They got the whole incident on security footage; he's not gonna see daylight for a long time."

She frowned a little, licked her lip, so Elliot fed her another piece of ice.

"And Cragen met Toby here last night. That was weird." Inane chat, to save Olivia from thinking too much about how bad this might be. "Weird, but civil."

"How did I get here?"

"Cragen got you here fast. Saved your life."

She watched, him, puzzled. "Was I shot?"

"No... You were knocked down the stairs. You hit your head. The doctors had to operate."

"My head?" She pulled her hand away to reach for the injury, and Elliot caught it, held it tighter.

"That's right."

"My hair?"

Elliot forced a smile, kept his voice light. "It might need some work."

"We were looking for someone..."

"You got him, Liv. He's going to prison."

The door opened and the day nurse bustled in. "Elliot, what - Oh. You're awake." She tucked her pen in her uniform and hurried over.

Olivia stared at her, blank. "What happened?"

Elliot swallowed. "Her memory's not..."

Becky squeezed his arm as she passed. "That's to be expected." She slid smoothly past Elliot to lean over the bed. "Hey, Honey. I'm going to ask you some questions, all right? Can you tell me your name?"

"Olivia Benson."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Elliot stepped back. Olivia answered all the questions right, and then asked what happened again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Mister, we're here."

Elliot blinked awake and looked around. Right. He felt around for his wallet, dug out a couple of twenties and pressed himself out of the taxi without waiting for change. Wondered when the two flights of stairs to Toby's apartment became ten. Seeing Toby was all that had driven him this far, the only reason he didn't curl up on the landing to rest. This wasn't just missing him. He needed him, would have given up a limb to crawl into his arms and stay there for a few days.

He let himself in the door and took a moment to breathe. Long enough that Toby came out squinting, in his boxers and a t-shirt, scratching his stomach. "Elliot?"

"Toby."

Weaving steps like a drunk, but Toby met him halfway, pulled Elliot close and took his weight. "I didn't expect you tonight." Elliot leaned into him.

"Finn kicked me out." He'd hardly been the first to try, but he'd been the rudest, and backed by the nurses, and Elliot was quietly grateful for the shove. "I missed you." Olivia could sleep without him for a few hours. Elliot wanted to be here.

"How's Olivia doing?"

"She woke up again since you called. Starting to sound more coherent. Still talking slow but doctors say she's doing great. Warner says it's a good sign for a full recovery."

"That's wonderful."

"She said it might take a while. Olivia won't like that."

"I'll bet. Come on. You're a zombie." Toby guided him through to the bedroom, sat Elliot down on the bed and knelt to take off his shoes. Elliot fumbled through the buttons of his shirt, and then lay back to push down his pants. Toby tugged at the bedcovers, but Elliot waved him back. It was painfully tempting to just crawl under and pull Toby after him, hold on hard and breathe him until morning, but Elliot had been sitting in that same chair for over twenty-four hours, hadn't eaten properly since Toby brought him dinner last night. Food could wait but, "I need a shower."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Elliot wouldn't have refused if Toby offered a sponge bath, but Toby just pulled him to his feet and held him steady. He smelled wonderful. Elliot hated to move, but he reminded himself the bed was waiting, and that was what he needed to drag himself away and plod to the bathroom.

The shower was incredible. Hot enough to turn Elliot's skin pink, half-waking his dazed brain while it turned his bones to mush, the heat settling deep in his gut. He washed fast and then braced himself against the tiles and let it beat down on his neck and back, and zoned out for a couple of minutes. He shut the water off and dragged a quick towel over himself, just enough to stop the dripping, and tucked it around his waist for the long trip back to the bedroom.

Toby was sitting up, reading by lamplight, glasses shining. Sexy as hell. Elliot closed the door and draped the towel over the handle, ambled over naked as Toby's eyes drifted south to Elliot's waving cock. Elliot slid under the sheets and wiggled over, wrapped himself right around Toby and kissed him, ignored the way Toby fumbled to mark his place, ignored Toby's struggle to get his glasses off without breaking free, dragged him down until they were lying pressed together, all the way from their tongues to their toes.

Slow, sexy kisses, long minutes of lazily rolling hips. Toby paused to trace a finger along the circle under Elliot's eye. "Don't you need to sleep?"

"Need you first." He rubbed his two-day stubble along Toby's neck, hips thrusting in mindless need. He didn't have the stamina or the wit to impress, just wanted to be with Toby and let go of all the tension that had been knotting him up since he got the call that Olivia... Since long before than that. Toby's hands smoothed over Elliot's back, restless and eager, and Elliot wanted...

Elliot brushed his mouth over Toby's ear, searched for a way to ask it, started and stopped and finally said, "Will you put your mouth on me?"

Toby pressed their foreheads, whispered, "You want me to suck your cock, El?"

"No, I... I want you to lick..." Elliot hated how hard it was to look in those blue eyes and ask. "I want your tongue. Would you mind... like that other time. My ass."

Toby's face lit up. "When you blush like that, you could make me do anything at all, baby."

Elliot cut him a look but Toby grinned, unrepentant. Elliot wanted to tell him and be clear, not your cock, nothing degrading, just that incredible tongue and all that eagerness that says there isn't a single inch of my body that you don't want to pleasure. Pull me open and get me out of my head.

Toby's hand slid back and forth over Elliot's ass, fingers tracing his crack, making him nervous and hard at once. "Can you be quiet?"

Holly was home. Elliot hadn't thought... "I will. I'll be whatever you want."

Toby's eyes darkened in the lamplight. "Next time I'll make you say it. You'll tell me, 'Toby, please, lick my asshole. Eat me out. Toby, get your incredible tongue up my ass, shove it as deep as you can.'" Toby stretched out his tongue to remind Elliot just how deep that was.

Elliot didn't know if he could say that but Toby was making him impossibly hard, sending the scrambled remains of his mind to his dick. He was too dizzy to know anything but the feel of Toby and the throb of his cock, the way Toby manhandled him onto his stomach, hips over a pillow, and spread his legs wide and licked him from balls to tailbone.

"Shhhhhh."

Had to be quiet. Elliot buried his face in a pillow and there was nothing but the weight in his cock and the fingers digging into his thighs and that incredible tongue. Elliot didn't care about Chris Keller, didn't care what kind of cop he was. To hell with dignity and worrying and tomorrow, Elliot just wanted to be awake long enough to feel that incredible shuddering bliss when his balls finally emptied.

Toby's hands were stretching his cheeks wide and he was teasing the sensitive hole with just the tip of his tongue until Elliot was almost ready to beg and then Toby pushed inside and it felt so good, stole Elliot's breath right out of his lungs. Slow, careful thrusts, in and out. Toby slid back to take his balls in that huge hot mouth and then it was back to his ass, devoted attention like Toby would rather be doing this for Elliot than anything else in the world, playing and pushing at Elliot's asshole for a while and then sliding that impossibly long tongue as impossibly deep as he'd promised, cramming his face against Elliot like he wanted to go deeper, almost too much, and curling inside him, building pleasure like a tide rising from his balls all the way up his spine, teetering, teetering, and then Toby's hand slid up his cock and Elliot had to bite the pillow in his face, had to hold himself still so he didn't rattle apart as it all rumbled up from his toes, rolling through him and over him and leaving him wrecked.

He couldn't move as Toby crawled back up to curl behind him, hard fat cock pressing Elliot's buttock. "You don't even know how sexy you are, El, writhing around like that." Toby had his knees planted either side of Elliot's thighs, had his cock in hand and was rubbing both against his ass cheek, two inches from where his tongue had just pressed, already close to a finish.

Elliot couldn't lift his head, let alone a hand, but he managed to say, "Want me to tell you how much I love it when you do that, Toby?"

"Yessss..."

"How good your tongue feels in my ass?" The words felt like nonsense, but Toby wasn't stopping so Elliot babbled on. "You shut down m'brain and can't think 'bout anything but how good y'feel, that beautiful face buried between my cheeks."

Toby was gasping, his face pressed to the back of Elliot's neck, his hips snapping.

"Love it when y' lick m'ass, Toby. Love what you do t'me."

Sharp teeth in Elliot's shoulder startled him alert, in time to feel Toby hanging, waiting, and then wet heat pooled on his butt, dripping off his hip and running into his crack. Elliot didn't understand the whispered words, but at some point there was a wet cloth, and then there was Toby wriggling under him, as close as Elliot needed him to be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot lay spread across the bed on his belly, one knee splayed wide. Grey cotton briefs stretched across the ass that had wriggled and flexed as Toby ate him out last night. When Elliot got that greedy for his tongue Toby felt like the best fuck in the world. It made him love eating Elliot out even more.

If Elliot ever got over his hang ups he'd be a complete ass slut. He'd loved every touch last night, loved it more the deeper Toby got. Toby'd had Elliot's hole loose enough he could have put two fingers up there without Elliot so much as catching his breath. A little longer, a little work with his thumbs and he would have hung wide enough that Toby could have just lined himself up and surged home in one thrust. That one thrust was all it would take to change Elliot's mind, and it was all Toby had thought about as he humped his cock into spit-slick flesh just a couple of slippery inches away from Elliot's slick, loose hole.

Toby wouldn't ever, ever push that line, but if Elliot would just trust him...

And now Toby was aroused all over again, without the time or privacy to do anything about it. He reached into his shorts to give his cock a squeeze and an apology and sat on the edge of the bed.

Elliot's eyes fluttered open, played over Toby's face, and then fell on the plate of toast and egg and bacon in his hands. He breathed deep and rubbed his face, and the scrape of whiskers was audible. "What time is it?"

"Early." Probably later than Elliot would have liked, but Toby had turned the clock to face away, figured he could distract him from looking for a while.

"I need to check-"

"I already checked. You didn't miss any calls, no one left any messages except Kathleen texting to ask if you're still on for lunch. Your phone isn't broken. You can eat a proper meal before you head back to hospital."

Elliot rolled onto his back, eyeing the plate in Toby's hands the same way Toby was studying the way grey cotton hugged his cock and balls, dark hair curling out and dissipating along his thighs. "That smells really good."

"Then put on some clothes before you come out to eat it. Holly's home."

Toby stood and Elliot threw a hand wide, poking Toby's knee. "No chance of taking care of that, then?" He glanced towards the tent in Toby's shorts. "How long were you staring at my ass before I woke up?"

"It only took a minute."

Elliot smiled.

He took a two minute shower and when he finally came out he was dressed and shaved and ready to go, everything but his shoes and coat. Holly was holed up in her room, so they had the table to themselves. Elliot started to wolf down his breakfast like a starving man so Toby went and cracked another couple of eggs into the frypan and stuck some more bread in the toaster and came back to lean in the doorway. "Are you going to have lunch with Kathleen?"

"Yeah. I called her; she's going to meet me in the city."

Toby pictured the girl he'd seen in photos. He wanted to know her, to see for himself the daughter that Elliot loved and worried about so much. "I could meet you in there."

Elliot snorted.

"I mean it."

"I don't have the strength to handle that right now."

"All right."

Elliot drained his coffee and looked up, hearing something in Toby's tone. "Not yet, okay?"

"Sure." Toby went back into the kitchen to get the second plate of eggs and toast. He was starting to get impatient to meet Kathleen and the twins. He was tired of Elliot's stories being about strangers. He wanted to see Maureen again. For all the reassurances that they were back on track, Elliot wasn't ready to let Toby meet his family.

Toby served up the second plate and Elliot caught his wrist and pulled him to sit before he could clear the other one away. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. Harry called yesterday and we talked for nearly an hour. He's already packing for Vermont, couldn't stop talking about learning to ski."

"That's great."

"He's worried about Holly, but he really wants to see me."

Elliot grinned. "Of course he does."

There was no 'of course' about it. Toby had fought his way here, and he wasn't going to take it even the slightest bit for granted. He was going to make sure Harry was part of his life. "I was wondering..."

Elliot's looked up from under his brow, plainly hearing the caution in Toby's voice.

"Captain Cragen yesterday... He knows about me."

"Yeah. I told him if anything happens to me... you're the one to call. You're the one I want with me."

Toby swallowed, and Elliot reached to squeeze his hand. "Does he know I have a record?"

Elliot sat back, hurt. "What do you want from me, Toby?"

Toby really didn't know. He was sure he didn't want Cragen to know that. "He wants you to take a vacation?"

"Don't worry about it." Shut down. Elliot shovelled another fork full of eggs in his mouth, dragged a piece of toast around the plate to catch the last of the yolk.

"I'm not worrying." Of course he was after that censored conversation in the park two days ago. Elliot was in trouble at work, had bullied a suspect or beaten a suspect, Toby didn't even know. Elliot used to trust him enough to talk about his problems at work, but that had all disappeared when he learned about Chris. Toby's betrayal was forgiven but it wasn't forgotten, and Toby didn't know what else he could do. He couldn't nag him now, with Olivia in the state she was in. "But I was thinking..." It probably wasn't the right time to ask this now, either, but Toby didn't want to put it off. "Why don't you come to Vermont?"

Elliot looked up, mouth open. "Me?"

"I know you'll want Thanksgiving with your kids, but I'm guessing Kathy has them for part of it. Better to spend that part with us, than home alone."

"And how will you explain me to Harry?"

"I'll tell him you're part of my life. I'm dating a man." He'd just rip the band aid off. Holly and Mother knew, and now Elliot's family knew. Harry couldn't be the only one who didn't.

Elliot pressed his tongue out to lick his lip, thinking, and then abruptly picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen. Toby followed him. Elliot leaned one hip against the counter. "While we're all stuck together for days?"

"Seems like it would be better than dropping the news on him and sending him straight back to his homophobic grandfather." At least then Toby and Elliot would have some time to win him over, and Harry would have a chance to see Holly not having a problem with their father dating a man and maybe Holly would be friendlier to Elliot, just to prove she was closer to him than Harry.

And then Toby would have Elliot with him for a weekend in Vermont: he could share his memories and family and turkey and real snow, maybe he could stay longer and it could just be the two of them for the rest of the week when the kids went back to school.

Toby wanted it badly. He took the plate out of Elliot's hands and put it in the sink, laid his hands on that broad chest. "Think about it. Snow. Fireplace. The rush of the wind going down a black run just after dawn." It had been ten, maybe fifteen years, but Toby was sure it was like riding a bike.

Elliot looked at him like he was mad. "Toby, I can't ski."

"Really?" Of course he couldn't. When would he have learned? Toby felt like an ass. He hated reminding Elliot of his privileged childhood. "I'll teach you."

Elliot's grimace suggested that wasn't likely, but it wasn't an outright no. "You really want me to come?"

"Of course I do." Toby had been practising this argument since the idea occurred to him yesterday. Elliot tipped his head, actually considering it, and Toby squeezed his hand. "You don't have to answer now. Just think about it."


	53. Headaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 52, Zombie:  
> Olivia woke up, and seemed okay. Mostly okay.  
> Elliot was glad to be kicked out of the hospital to spend a night in Toby's tender care. Toby was glad to do some, uh, caring.  
> Toby managed to keep Elliot around for breakfast, and though he didn't manage to wrangle an invitation to lunch with Kathleen or an explanation of Elliot's work troubles, he did leave Elliot at least considering a family trip to Vermont. Maybe not the skiing.

Elliot settled at a back table with a couple of subs and a couple of sodas. The place was a dive, but it was close to the hospital, and Olivia's day nurse had told him it wasn't known for food poisoning.

Toby wanted him to come skiing. It was the first time Olivia had laughed since she woke up.

Elliot thought ploughing in on Toby's rare time with Harry was a bad idea. He thought Harry seeing Elliot climb into Toby's bed five minutes after meeting him was a terrible idea. And he didn't understand why Toby was pressing for all this when he couldn't even say he loved Elliot. Why would you drag a stranger into your kid's life if it didn't mean something? Elliot wanted to remind Toby that he was smoothing things over with his own kids before Toby had to face them, suggest maybe he should do the same with Harry, but it sounded cowardly to say it out loud.

On the other hand, the idea of a weekend away with Toby, far from the city - far from the rapists and paedophiles - had its appeal.

Elliot still wanted to talk to Toby. He wanted to tell him why Cragen was pushing him out, why Vermont didn't sound like a terrible idea. He needed to make Toby understand that finding out about Chris Keller had been like putting a name to the worst parts of him, and it was eating him up.

But not right now. Right now, work felt far away, and Olivia was enough to be dealing with. Olivia and lunch with Kathleen and figuring out how he was going to reach Dickie and Elizabeth. 

"Hey Dad. Brought your clothes." Kathleen dropped the gym bag by his feet and kissed his cheek and gave him a hug before she took her seat. It meant more than she knew. 

"Hey, Kathleen." She pushed off her furry cap and shook out her long, honey-blonde hair and took a long drink from her water glass. Her cheeks were rosy from the wind outside, but she was pale, and her eyes were bloodshot. "How are you?"

"Fine. How's Olivia?"

Kathleen was hung over. Elliot bit his tongue before he could say so. "Doing better." Olivia was starting to get sick of Elliot. "The Doc says she might be allowed to go home in a few days." If there was someone around to stay with her - he hadn't broken that news to Olivia or Toby yet.

"Has she got her memory back?"

"The doctor said she probably won't ever remember the fall, but she's following conversations better. She sounds more like herself." She wasn't the Olivia he knew, but her confidence was creeping back. Warner and her doctor were starting to sound more confident too, when they talked about a full recovery. "It's going to be weeks before they even consider letting her back on light duties. She's going to go stir crazy."

"I'll bet. I'm trying to imagine you with a month on your hands."

"It wouldn't be pretty."

Were they really going to sit here and pretend they didn't both know Kathleen had been out getting drunk again? He didn't get anything out of yelling at her; he couldn't ground her when he didn't live with her and it wasn't like it had worked so far. He wanted to storm home and tell Kathy to do something about it but it wouldn't get him anything but a fight. He wanted to drag Kathleen out to meet Lisa, show her the dangers girls faced from scumbags in bars but he didn't want his world in her head. He was helpless. And he was scared to start a fight with Kathleen when he was desperate for her to give Toby a chance.

It was chickenshit to talk about everything but the two biggest issues, but he prodded her until she talked about her friends, and a little about what was going on at school. Elliot was happy to grasp for the reassurance that his relationship with Toby wasn't going to be the only thing she cared about, but it was on his mind as they talked their way through everything but the elephants in the room, and as their sandwiches disappeared and the conversation trickled off, he finally had to ask. 

"Do you want to talk about why you got drunk last night, or do you want to talk about Toby?"

Her eyes widened. "Your new boyfriend? I've been told to keep my opinion to myself."

Toby, then. Elliot wondered if it was Maureen or Kathy who'd talked her down. "Not by me. You say what you need to."

She considered for a moment. "The Church says homosexuality's a sin."

"Are you going to tell me your personal life is in line with Vatican policy?"

He could have bitten his tongue off for taking such a cheap shot at his seventeen year-old daughter, but Kathleen thought it was funny.

"Do you really have a problem with gay people?" It was still an effort to say the word.

"Of course not!"

"Maureen said you might."

"Did she? Is that why you kept it a secret?"

"No. I told you-"

"Maybe I thought that when I was twelve. What I have a problem with is you keeping secrets with Maureen. Since August."

"Kathleen..." He understood why it upset her, but he wished she'd get over it. He couldn't fix it now. "I told her because she asked me straight out. I was going to tell the rest of you, but things came up and I didn't. Now I've told you."

She picked up one of the spare straws off the table and slowly tore off the wrapper. "And I have a problem with you lying to Mom all these years." 

Pow. Like a punch straight to the gut. "You really believe that? I wasn't... I loved your mother, Kathleen."

She pushed her hair back off her face, looking guilty. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't be talking about this while Olivia's in hospital. Can we talk about something else?"

"Do you really think the four of you and how you're all taking this isn't keeping me awake at night? I'd rather get it out there." He had Maureen; if he could get Kathleen onside, the twins would follow. "Just say whatever it is you want to say. Ask whatever's on your mind."

That was an invitation Kathleen could never turn down. She put her elbows on the table and looked him straight in the eye. "I don't believe you. You don't just like women one day and men the next."

Elliot still didn't know if it was 'men' or just Toby. The things he did with Toby, he didn't want to do with anyone else. The idea of being with another guy felt almost as alien as it had before his feelings stirred for Toby. Another item on the list of things he was never going to discuss with his daughter. "You don't think you'll ever change?"

"Not into a lesbian."

Elliot swallowed. "If you ever do, I'll still love you just as much as I do now."

She cut him a look. He wasn't going to get anywhere playing the good dad. He didn't know if she'd like Toby, but he was sure Toby would like her.

"It wasn't your mother one day and Toby the next. It wasn't... easy."

"Is being gay new for him, too?"

Elliot could have done without the sarcasm, but he wasn't fighting that battle here. "No. But it was a mid-life thing. He was married once, like me."

"Until he left his wife for a man?"

"She died."

"Oh." A flash of shame. "I'm sorry."

"He had a lot of bad years. He buried his wife, his son. And his father." He was going to make sure all his kids knew that much, before they met him. It wouldn't hurt if it earned Toby a little sympathy.

"Maureen said you've met his daughter."

"Holly."

She folded her arms. "How does she feel about her dad turning gay?"

"She's happy he has someone." Still not so happy about who it was, but she was getting over it.

"Isn't that nice for her."

"Yes, it is nice for her. And it's nice for Toby, to have her support." He winced. He'd promised he wouldn't snap at her. "Look, Kathleen... I know we fight about a lot of things, but I need you to cut me some slack on this. I don't know what I would have done without him this week. He means a lot to me, and you all have to fit together somehow."

Kathleen's eyes narrowed. "So like it or not, I just have to get over it?"

"That's not what I-"

She rubbed her head, looking exhausted. "You want to know why no one's turning cartwheels for you? You made Mom cry. And now you're just dancing off with someone new, and she's still alone. It's not fair on her."

There was no one in the world to match Kathleen for making Elliot feel like a scumbag. He couldn't pretend his kids hadn't heard the fights and tiptoed through the frosty silences. "I'm not the one who ended the marriage."

"Yes, you are. You checked out. She's just the one who filed the papers. We live in that house, remember? We're not deaf and I'm not stupid. You made Mom cry."

He did. He was never going to excuse it, and he was never going to win any points telling Kathleen how much Kathy hurt him as well, and especially not when Kathleen looked on the verge of tears herself. "I didn't go looking for this. When your mother left I didn't..." He shook his head. He didn't want Kathleen to know what a fucking mess he'd been. "I buried myself in work. I wasn't painting the town red. It was a big deal to even make a friend." A year ago Elliot hadn't seen a future at all, and now he was getting excited by the idea of a long weekend with Toby and his kids in Vermont.

Kathleen sipped her drink, played with her straw, getting her composure back.

"You're probably right. I don't deserve this. I didn't earn it. It just is. I fell into it and I'm lucky as hell." He was going to do it. As soon as he sorted Thanksgiving custody arrangements with Kathy, he was booked.

"I didn't say you didn't deserve it," she said quietly. 

They fell quiet, and Elliot wished he knew how to bridge the gap. He'd been through all the usual stuff with Maureen, but in the end Maureen had always known he was on her side. With Kathleen, it was like a switch flipped when she was fifteen, and she hadn't trusted him since. 

She let her hair fall forward to hide her face, and suddenly Elliot was looking at Weber's last victim, huddled on a bed and too ashamed to tell her father. It felt like someone put a vice around his ribs. 

"Kathleen... I just want to make sure... If something ever goes wrong, I need to know you'll call me."

"Sure."

"I mean it. When you got that DUI last year I should have been your first call. If you ever get pulled up by the police again, or if someone ever... If you ever get hurt, you..."

"Dad..."

"If you ever find yourself in a crack den in Bolivia or you just need a ride home from Montauk at two in the morning, even if I'm mad about something else, you call me and I'll be there. I want to be there. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"Even if I'm angry about you being in Bolivia."

She rolled her eyes.

"I mean it. Tell me you understand."

She finally looked at him properly, and said, "I understand."

"I love you."

She heaved a little sigh, embarrassed. "Love you too, Dad."

Elliot sat back, satisfied he'd made his point as well as he could. He wouldn't know if she trusted him until the next time.

"So when are we going to meet this guy?"

"Soon." He ignored her look. He'd introduce them when she could ask that without it sounding like a threat. Toby had been through enough shit in his life without facing Kathleen's wrath.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot put Olivia's bag down in her bedroom and stood to see her staring in the mirror with big, sad eyes. "I look like hell."

The shadows under her eyes and the shaved half of her head had all blended in with the white gown and the hospital decor of the past few days, but here in her own space, in jeans and a blouse, without make up, it looked ridiculous. "I wouldn't have guessed punk rock could be your thing, but I think if you get a couple of piercings, you could carry it off."

He won a wry look. It wasn't a smile, but it was a good start. "Thank god it's winter, and I can wear hats."

"You could shave it all, start over."

"Maybe." She frowned at her reflection, looking like she was actually considering the idea, and then she hissed and lifted her hand just short of her surgery scar, fisting and flexing her fingers.

"Don't scratch."

"It itches."

"Yeah, but at least you're not barfing anymore."

"Elliot..."

"I'm going."

Elliot left her to it.

 

Olivia came out in sweats and a baggy flannel shirt. "What are you doing?"

Elliot dropped the blanket on the arm of the couch. "I'm sleeping here."

"The hell you are."

"You're outranked."

She gave him a look that made his skin prickle and his balls creep up. "You're pulling that shit on me?"

"Not my rank." Elliot realised he had his hands up like me might have to ward off blows. "The doctor's. She said you could go home as long as there was someone with you." He spread his arms. "Ergo, me."

"One of us is going to kill the other."

"That's a chance we'll have to take." He kept one eye on her as he dropped the spare pillow into a pillowcase. "You own flannel?"

"Shut up."

He threw the pillow on the blanket and backed off towards the phone and the stash of menus. "What's your mood?"

Olivia sat stiffly and rubbed her forehead, defeated way too easily. "Just get a pizza."

"Do you have a headache?"

"I can't remember what it's like not to have a headache. But right now I'm giddy at the idea of eating something that isn't hospital food, so don't bother to tell me to go to bed."

Elliot wasn't feeling that courageous. He went and ordered a vegetarian, came back to the couch. She was sitting back with her eyes closed, breathing evening out. 

"I'm awake." Barely.

When her eyes opened he sat beside her. "I'm staying here for the next few days. I'm going to count out your pills and make you follow doctor's orders. I'm going to keep an eye on your dressing. I'm going to do your laundry. Get used to it."

She looked the least impressed at the idea of Elliot going through her laundry. "Don't you have a family to worry about? Isn't Toby wondering where you've gone?"

"My kids are doing fine, and Toby understands. He saw you in the hospital." When Olivia was back on her own feet he'd make it up to Toby - if Olivia hadn't killed him. This much time together was a lot, even for them, and Elliot talking as much as he had was off the charts. But the doctor had said no TV, no reading, no exercise, and that meant Elliot was all that was left to distract her from wondering whether she still had a career.

Olivia reached to scratch her head, growled and twitched and picked up her pile of mail instead, flipped through the first few and tossed it all back on the coffee table. "I was in there for... How many days?"

"Four."

"Four days. How did the insurance paperwork and bills beat me home?"

"Do you want me to take care of it?"

She slouched back and closed her eyes and waved it off. Later. She looked ready to sleep already. She'd slept all morning, and she was wiped out by the effort of packing her things and coming home. Elliot was about to get up when she opened her eyes again. "Did you say..." Elliot was getting familiar with the way her nose wrinkled when she was searching through fractured memories. "Did Toby meet Captain Cragen?"

"Yeah. The first night." When she was still hooked up to all the machines, and Elliot didn't know if she was going to wake up. "Toby's been... great through all this."

"How was that? Him and the captain?"

He'd told her the story a couple of times already, but he was getting used to repeating himself. "Awkward." Mostly awkward in Elliot's own head. "Nah, it was fine. Cragen tried to pull Toby into bullying me to go on vacation."

She looked at him for a long time. "Have you talked to Toby? About why Cragen's pushing you?"

Elliot didn't answer. He was going to; he just hadn't had a chance yet.

"Elliot... You're divorced because you wouldn't let Kathy in. Do you really want to make the same mistake with Toby?"

He wasn't going to make the same mistake with Toby. He just hadn't got there, yet. He'd been kind of distracted this week.

She heaved a sigh. "You haven't stopped talking in days. Why stop now?"

"I can't talk about this with you."

She went to push her hair back behind her ear, cringing when she hit gauze instead. "I just spent days sitting on bedpans, and now you're threatening to wash my underwear. You're really going to play the privacy card?"

Fair point. There was a fifty percent chance she was going to forget half this conversation anyway. Elliot braced himself. "It's different with Toby."

"How?"

"With Kathy it was about keeping all the horror we deal with away from... I didn't want her tainted with all the dirt we wade through. Lying awake picturing the shit we see every day."

She nodded. She knew all that. She took up the thread. "But Toby's already lived through it. You see him in the victims, the parents of victims. You can't distance yourself the way you used to."

"It's not that. Not just that." That part Elliot had learned to deal with. He stared at the carpet, but he could feel Olivia's eyes on him. She would choose now to stay awake and follow a conversation. "Toby's last... This guy he was with was... bad. A really bad guy."

She pulled her feet up to curl under her. "Is that who abused him in prison?" It wasn't often Liv used that voice on him, the one she used for victims.

"No. Yes. It wasn't that simple."

"Hardly ever is."

Sometimes it was. Elliot liked when it was simple. "I mean the guy wasn't serving time for jay walking."

There was a long quiet. Elliot didn't want to betray any confidences, but holding all of this in was half the problem.

He heard her inhale, the moment she figured it out. "Those photos. That's who Toby was protecting. He had a relationship with the man who murdered those men." Another minute to follow the thought. "That's why you're having trouble in interrogations. It's not the victims you're identifying with. It's the perps."

It felt like the first full breath Elliot had taken in a long time. Olivia got it. Olivia got him. He looked at her. "Haven't I always? Isn't that why I'm so good at the job?"

"Elliot..."

"Yeah." She knew it was true. He slumped back against the couch.

"You're good at the job for a lot of reasons. Because you're smart and when you get your teeth into a problem you don't let go. Because you care about the victims, because you use your anger to fight for justice."

"Because no one in SVU can befriend a rapist or scare the shit out of a suspect like I can."

"You're not like them, El."

He stood. He hadn't been fishing for reassurances. He didn't know what he wanted from her, but he felt like an asshole whining about his life when Olivia had just had her head stapled up. "Do you need anything? I'm gonna take a shower before you hog all the hot water."

The worry was still in her eyes, but she reached for his pillow and curled up ready to nap. "You'd better be quick. Don't expect me to answer the door for the delivery kid."


	54. Fresh air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 53, Headaches:  
> Elliot had lunch with Kathleen near the hospital. He gave her the choice of talking about her hangover or Toby, and she chose to tell her dad all her reasons for being unhappy about him being with Toby: most particularly, that it wasn't nice to make her mother cry and then prance happily off into a new life.  
> Elliot brought Olivia home, and broke the news that he was going to be sticking around and doing her laundry. She guilted him into explaining that it was Toby's ex-lover ruining his work work-zen.

Olivia looked surprised when she opened the door. "Hi."

Toby cringed. "Elliot didn't tell you I was coming."

"He did, but I thought he was joking. I've been out of the hospital for three days; I think I can manage not to fall over for two hours." She was in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, free of make up, half her hair just starting to sprout and the other half unwashed. She looked a lot better than most people would in that state, but hardly like the groomed detective he knew.

"He was worried about you being left alone while he was dragged in for the search, so I told him I'd come." He lifted a bag. "I brought food."

"You didn't have to. But thank you." She finally realised she was barring the door, and stepped back to let him in. "Don't you have a job?"

"Took a half day."

Toby had brought a couple of meals, secretly hoping to make up for being such an asshole when Olivia came to dinner. Secretly hoping hanging out here wasn't going to be as awkward as he thought it might be. He hung his jacket on the coat stand and followed her wave towards the kitchen.

"I should be in there," Olivia grumped. "They need all the bodies they can get."

Toby loaded containers into the almost-empty fridge. Elliot hadn't been kidding about her not being a cook. "They need all the brains they can get. From what I hear, that's not you just yet."

"Thanks."

He took a good look around her living space. It was neat and a little bare, though the piles of get-well flowers were dressing it up. In pride of place amongst the bouquets was a twice-life-size pink plush brain. "Someone sending you a message?"

Olivia smiled. "That's from Elliot's kids. He says they all pitched in, but I'm betting it was Elizabeth's idea. She has the weirdest sense of humour."

It was the first time Toby had ever felt a twinge of jealousy of Olivia. She knew Elizabeth and Kathleen and Dickie, had known them most of their lives. He'd bet Elliot had never wavered over bringing Olivia home for dinner. "How are you doing?"

She leaned over the counter. "I'm going stir-crazy."

"I hear you're getting the staples out tomorrow."

"At least I'll look a little less like Frankenstein's monster." She rubbed her head just near the wound. "The better I get, the more frustrating all these restrictions feel."

"I don't doubt it." Toby remembered the gradual withdrawal of painkillers, how after a while even his curdling rage for Chris and Vern and Metzger had been buried under the daily irritations of not being able to scratch his own itches or shift himself in bed or wipe his own ass.

"I thought it would help to get Elliot out of my hair for a few hours, but at least being irritated with him was something to do. Reading and watching TV make the headaches worse, so I'm just staring at the walls."

"Do you want to go out?" That might be less awkward than sitting on the couch, trying to think of things to talk about.

She looked at him like it had never occurred to her. "Out?"

"For a walk. Get some exercise."

"I never... I go to the gym."

"I'm guessing you're not allowed to do that right now."

"No, the gym was definitely off the list." She looked out the window, still sceptical. "It's November."

"So nobody will blink if you wear a hat. Trust me, no one should be locked inside for too long. Makes you crazy." He meant for it to sound light, but was pretty sure he failed.

Olivia looked at him funny, and then lifted her hands. "Sold. I'll go put on something warmer."

"I'll keep my boots on."

 

Olivia came out in jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt and a cosy-looking grey beanie. If he hadn't seen her at her best, Toby wouldn't have said she looked sick at all. She locked up and led the way to the elevator. As soon as they stepped out the front door, she closed her eyes for a deep breath of the crisp November air. Toby's lungs expanded in sympathy, remembering that first full breath of freedom. "See what I mean?"

"That feels really good."

"Never underestimate the curative properties of fresh air. Which way?"

She looked both ways, and then pointed. "The Hudson River Greenway's up there."

"Sounds good."

Olivia lived on a leafy street on the Upper West Side, just a few blocks from the river. They crossed Broadway and walked a full block before Olivia started making conversation. "Sorry about taking up all of Elliot's time."

"Don't worry about it. He cares about you." Elliot didn't realise how much his thoughts were focused on whether the people he loved were safe and happy.

"We've been best friends for a long time."

Toby pushed his hands in his pockets. "You must have been curious when you heard about me."

She snorted a laugh. "Curious? That's an understatement." She rubbed her arms. "Elliot's such a... He's so traditional. Black and white. Family man, husband. I thought I knew him pretty well, and I would have pegged him as the straightest man I knew."

"I would have called him the second-straightest. After me, ten years ago."

He felt her look. Wondered if she'd be nosy enough to ask. Wondered if she'd be brave enough to point out that Toby being a man wasn't half so impossible as him being fresh out of prison or an alcoholic. Suddenly he couldn't stand not know what she really thought. "But it's not half as surprising as me being an ex-con, is it?"

"True." She gave him a warm look. "But he's happy with you."

He wanted to remind her that Elliot hadn't been so happy lately, but he couldn't imagine she'd break any confidences for him. She had to have some idea what went wrong in that interrogation. Elliot seemed happy with Toby as long as Toby didn't ask too much about what was bothering him, or push to meet his kids. Toby shoved his hands in his pockets as they crossed Riverside Drive to the park. "He's been good for me."

The Sailors' and Soldiers' Monument was quiet, just a young couple making out on the steps under the tall grey columns, an occasional cyclist speeding past a mother pushing a buggy. Toby and Olivia wandered across the grass and found things other than Elliot to talk about. 

 

On the way home they stopped in at the grocery store. Olivia handed over a list, and Toby smiled when he saw the handwriting. "Elliot's writing your shopping list?"

"Writing gives me a headache, too."

Toby grabbed a cart and checked the list. "First up, coffee."

Olivia led the way."Being dependent on other people is hell."

"Believe me, I know how it feels."

She turned to him, surprised. "You've had a head injury?"

"I've had two broken arms and two broken legs." It popped out without thinking, before he could anticipate the shocked look and obvious follow-up question.

"You were in an accident?"

Toby swallowed, turned his face away. "Prison."

"You were assaulted."

Obviously. "Peanut Butter." He looked down the list. "Cheerios. Brownie Bites. You know, except for the coffee, this looks like a shopping list Holly would make."

"You sound like Elliot." She dropped a jar of peanut butter in the cart. "How long were you in hospital?"

"Two months."

"Maybe I shouldn't complain about a few weeks off work."

"Maybe you were lucky to be hazy for most of it." Vern and Chris had been smart enough to know there was no better cruelty than leaving his mind sharp.

"Were the men who did it punished?"

She was such a cop, just like Elliot, pretending it was a casual question. "Yeah. They were punished." That fuck Metzger bled out in a back corridor. Vern buried both his sons. And Chris... To his last days, Chris never really believed that Toby had been the one wielding the shank in the storeroom.

Toby stopped at the end of the health and beauty aisle. There was nothing on the list, but he couldn't exactly see Olivia asking Elliot to write 'Tampax' for her. And he wasn't about to suggest it, either. "Anything you want up there? Toothpaste or something?" She hesitated, so he said, "Why don't I make dinner tonight? I'll go grab some ingredients, and I'll meet you at the checkout."

She gave him a smile. "Sounds good."

 

They were both laughing when Toby heard Elliot's key turn in the door. He uncovered the plate he'd about to save for him, and grabbed another knife and fork from the drawer.

Olivia turned on her stool. "I didn't expect you so soon."

Elliot came in sniffing the air. "I smell Toby's cooking." It was the first Toby had seen of him in days, and he looked great. A hell of a lot better than in the hospital, or when he stumbled in at midnight.

"How'd it go?"

"We found the baby. A little hungry, but she'll be fine. Munch and Finn get all the paperwork." He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat and came through to the kitchen to brush a kiss across Toby's mouth, letting his hand linger on Toby's hip. Toby didn't know if he was over being self-conscious in front of Olivia, or just trying to be, but either way it was nice. "Didn't think you'd still be here."

"Olivia's forcing me to make dinner."

"It was your idea," she retorted.

"She threatened to handcuff me to the stove."

"Liv wouldn't do that. She knows you need both hands." He looked tired, but more satisfied than he had in a while. He'd already loosened his tie and popped the first couple of buttons. Whatever was getting him down at work wasn't bothering him today.

He let go of Toby to take a closer look at the crumbed chicken, so Toby explained, "Chicken breast stuffed with cheese and prosciutto."

"Three cheeses," said Olivia, as though sticking a little parmesan and romano alongside the cheddar was a grand culinary feat.

Elliot slid a days-of-the-week pill container across the counter to Olivia and scooped up a couple of plates. "Why do you think I'm running slower these days? He's going to have you back to your pre-surgery weight in no time." As he carried things out to the table, he called back, "How was your day?"

He said it to both of them, so Toby concentrated on getting the herb bread out of the oven and let Olivia answer. "Pretty good. We took a walk. Did some shopping. Exchanged all your embarrassing stories."

"Great."

 

Dinner was nice. This time the chicken came out well, and a hunt for a missing baby with a happy ending was a light enough story for Elliot to talk about it. Olivia raved about the food, and didn't seem to mind the extra company. Even with the occasional haziness she was more intelligent than most. She was funny and wouldn't take any shit from Elliot. Toby liked her a lot.

She and Elliot had an easy rapport, familiar and teasing. Toby might have guessed they were married, if he'd been watching from outside, but it didn't bring the same quiet envy that Olivia's familiarity with Elizabeth had. Toby liked seeing Elliot this at ease. The conversation stretched through dinner and a group effort to tidy the kitchen, until Olivia began to look worn around the edges.

"Well," she said. "It's been nice hanging out with someone who isn't Elliot for a change, but I'm on a mandatory nine pm bedtime. Thanks for dinner, Toby."

They wished her a good night, and Elliot watched her go until her door closed. "I haven't seen her so relaxed since the accident."

"Fresh air does magical things."

"You do magical things. She's fuzzy and dependent and she has no idea if she'll ever be able to get back to her job. I've never seen her scared like these last few days, but tonight, she almost felt like the old Liv."

It felt good to hear. Toby thought it had more to do with the walk and the air than Elliot imagined, but he hoped he'd helped. It had been a good evening. The sort of evening their first dinner with Olivia should have been. He needed to be heading home soon, but he hadn't had a moment alone with Elliot yet, and he was starved for it. Even if it was just a few minutes to talk on the couch, and a chaste kiss goodnight.

Finally they were done, everything but wiping the counter, so Toby left Elliot to it and went to sit on the couch. Barely a minute later Elliot slid in beside him and dragged him close and this was no chaste kiss goodnight. Elliot's tongue teased Toby's and tickled the roof of his mouth as his hungry hands worked over his clothes. He broke off long enough to mutter, "Miss you," before going for Toby's neck.

Toby rang his fingers over Elliot's hair as his cock pressed against Elliot's thigh, begging for friction. A gentle scrape of Elliot's teeth to his chin and Toby was helpless. "You're planning to get down and dirty on your partner's couch?" If Elliot said yes, then Toby was all for it. Wouldn't even suggest they wait until there was a decent chance Olivia had actually fallen asleep.

Elliot tipped his head against Toby's shoulder, letting out a long breath. "No."

Toby hadn't thought so. Disappointment bit anyway.

Elliot kissed him again, still deep but without the promise of twenty seconds ago. "I've been sleeping on a couch for three nights, in a hospital chair before that, no time but the shower to think about you and jerk off. I love Liv but I can't wait to get out of here."

Toby wanted to hear some more about those showers. "I thought you were enjoying being the big protector."

Elliot flopped back, but he pulled Toby with him. "I miss you. I miss my kids. Feel like I haven't seen them in months. I miss my job." He shook his head. "Canvassing the streets felt good today."

"Taking a break has helped?"

"Yeah."

Toby ran a hand over Elliot's chest. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?"

Tension hardened Elliot's body, but seconds passed, and Elliot wrapped a hand around Toby's. "It's better. I just needed to get out of there."

That was crap. Whatever was going on had been building for months, and it was still getting to him, and it wasn't going to evaporate with a few days off. Toby wished Elliot trusted him enough to talk. "Does this mean you're going back?"

"Day after tomorrow. Doc says Olivia should be good on her own, and everyone from the station's going to take turns dropping in on her." 

Toby swallowed his frustration. Elliot wasn't going to talk to him.

He squeezed Toby's hand. "First thing I'm going to do is put in a leave request for Thanksgiving."

"Yeah?"

"I'll do it. It's short notice, but I think Cragen'll be happy to get me out of there. I'll come to Vermont. Meet Harry. See this house that means so much to you."

Toby could feel the smile spread across his face. He couldn't wait to show Elliot around.

"Kathy wants the kids on Thursday to do Thanksgiving with her side of the family. That means I can do Thanksgiving with you, come home Friday. I don't think the kids will mind that I take the half of the weekend that doesn't hinge on my cooking."

Toby snorted. "What did you do last year?"

"I'd been shot in the arm, so Kathy took pity, had me home."

That was the sling Elliot was wearing when Toby tracked him down at the court. It had been nearly a year since then.

"It was awkward, but I got to be with the kids."

And this year, he had to look forward to Thanksgiving with Toby's kids. Or...

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Toby felt himself leaning forward, pulse picking up. He knew what Elliot was going to say, but he had to ask. "Why don't you bring your kids up?"

"My kids? To Vermont?" He made it sound like Toby was suggesting he drop them off in Mogadishu.

Toby cupped Elliot's shoulders, slid his hands down to Elliot's elbows and back up. "Let's make it about our families. A real Thanksgiving, a couple of days late. We'll do a turkey on Saturday or Sunday, all the trimmings."

Elliot's mouth flapped a couple of times. "How big is this place?"

"A couple of people might have to share bedrooms. You and me for sure."

"Funny." He didn't look amused at all. "Toby... You don't think it would be safer to start off small meeting my lot? A lunch? Morning tea?"

If that was what Elliot wanted, he would have organised it by now. "How about I just drive by and wave?" Toby kept his voice even with an effort. "I want you to stop putting it off."

Elliot pulled back. "I haven't been putting it off."

"Yes, you have." Toby got to his feet. Toby had laughed when Chris asked to meet his kids. Elliot just made excuses.

"You're upset about this? Toby, I told them about you, I just haven't-"

"You told them about me but you won't let them meet me. So the problem isn't that I'm a man. It's me."

"That's bullshit."

Too loud; they both stopped, waiting to see if Olivia would poke her head out to remind them they were in her home. Either she hadn't heard them or she was too polite to say so. Toby headed for the kitchen, and Elliot followed close behind.

"So what are you waiting for?"

"I just wanted them to get used to the idea of you before they met you in the flesh."

"I'm not afraid of your kids." Not as afraid as he was of never meeting them. "If they don't like me then I'm just going to have to win them over." It would have to be easier than Elliot winning Holly back. "I want you to trust me."

"I don't want you stuck dealing with them while they're still shocked and angry. It's not fair to put you in that position."

"But how is that going to change if they can't put a face to it? They don't..." Elliot's words echoed back. "You're talking about Harry finding out. You don't want to be part of that."

Elliot's mouth tightened. "You don't have to rush everything. It's a lot to dump on a wary ten year-old."

This wasn't a fucking rush. Toby put more space between them. Elliot dealt with injured and abused kids every day, told them there parents were dead, going to jail. This should have been a cake walk. "I missed out on their childhoods. You think your kids grew up too fast? I had eight years snatched away. Do you know, I didn't see them at all for the first eighteen months?"

"I didn't know that."

"Gen said she didn't think it was healthy for them to see me in there, but maybe she didn't think Oz was enough punishment for ruining their lives. She didn't care so much what was healthy for them when she gassed herself in the garage and let them find her." The words were running, and Toby couldn't stop them. "And then Harry was whisked off to San Diego and soon after that Gary was gone. Don't tell me Harry can't be part of my life. I've missed too much."

"Shhhh." Elliot's arms came around him, and Toby wanted to push him away but Elliot gripped him tighter, until he gave in. Toby didn't know why he felt overwhelmed.

"I know I hurt you, but I've missed too much of your kids. Please trust me. It might-"

"I trust you, Toby."

He didn't. "It might be rough, but I'd rather this be an unmitigated disaster than another day or month or year that slipped by."

"Okay. It's okay. I didn't know." Elliot rocked him, settled a hand in his hair. "I didn't know how you felt. You have to tell me."

Toby snorted against his shoulder. "Like you tell me about your problems at work?" He gave that a second to dig in but he didn't want to start hearing excuses about work right now. "I want Harry to meet you and get to know you and like you before Jonah ever gets to serve up his opinion."

"You're assuming Harry's going to like me."

"Of course he will." He'd like Elliot a lot better for knowing him, rather than believing whatever cartoon Jonah might conjure up. "And I want to face whatever your kids are going to think of me." Toby pushed his face against Elliot's collar. "I've faced down murderers. I can handle three teenagers."

"All right. I'll sort it out."

"I'm sorry." Toby felt ridiculous, like he'd bullied Elliot into this, but he couldn't regret it.

"Don't be sorry." Elliot held him tight.


	55. What good guys do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 54, Fresh air:  
> Toby showed up to baby sit Olivia while Elliot was drafted into work. Olivia was surprised, but quickly won over by food and Toby's suggestion of a walk.  
> Elliot was happy to find Toby and Olivia had bonded, but way more happy when Olivia went to bed so he could do a little bonding of his own. Unfortunately, the tension of Elliot's unexplained suspension and unwillingness to introduce Toby to the kids remained. Toby resolved the latter with an emotional outburst that convinced Elliot to bring his tribe to Vermont for Thanksgiving.

Elliot sat in the car, counting his breaths and flexing his fingers. He hadn't hit anything. Or anyone. He'd forgotten how hard it was, doing this without Olivia. They were short-staffed and backlogged, and he'd spent the day juggling paedophiles and frat boys who argued to his face that being drunk senseless was consent.

He almost didn't come but he couldn't face that empty house tonight, he couldn't inflict this mood on Olivia while she was sick, and he knew if he was left in his own head he'd end up storming over to Kathy's to pick a fight with Kathleen about her drinking. Or to pick a fight with Kathy about Kathleen's drinking. He was going to have to trust Toby would stay out of his face and let him blow off some steam.

He slipped on his woollen cap and climbed out of the car into the bitter cold and slammed the door, cast a long look at the liquor store. He really could have used a couple of beers, but he could hardly drink himself out of this mood in front of an alcoholic. Elliot rubbed his face. God, he was an asshole: he was pissed at Toby for being sober. 

He prayed Toby wasn't going to ask how his kids took the news of Vermont. Their cousins were going to Six Flags, and Dickie and Lizzie threw a tantrum over missing out, but he couldn't back out now. Now that Toby had turned walking into this powder keg into some kind of grand proof of Elliot's trust. Elliot wanted to ask Toby why it was up to him to prove himself when Toby couldn't even trust Elliot enough to tell him he loved him.

Elliot was sure he did. Most days he was sure . Surely Toby wouldn't back Elliot into the Thanksgiving from hell if he didn't, but why was it so hard to say? Elliot would have blamed the monster inside him, if Toby hadn't proudly declared his love for a monster more times than Elliot could count.

He had his key in the door when it swung open, Holly looking up at him.

"Holly, I didn't expect..." He slid off his cap. She was supposed to be at her grandmother's. "Where's your dad?"

"At the shops."

"Oh. I should go."

"Why?"

Because he couldn't let Holly see the rage that was battering through his veins, and his skin was crawling being anywhere near her right now. "I don't want to bother you."

She gave him the universal teenage look for 'You're an idiot,' and walked back to the homework spread across the dining table, leaving the door open. "You're not bothering me." This was the friendliest she'd been since Elliot came back into Toby's life, and Elliot just wanted to get away.

Elliot shifted his feet and pumped his fists. Trapped being calm for Holly. Thank god he hadn't punched anyone or anything on the way here, and he didn't have to hide scraped knuckles. He'd had to do that with his own kids more than once, probably hadn't fooled them.

"Dad'll be home in a while." She didn't look up.

He didn't want to come in, but he could hardly turn around and leave now. He came in, closed the door, shrugged off his coat and took his time hanging it up. Thank god he'd left his gun locked up at the station. He couldn't make conversation with an eleven year-old. Could barely have made conversation with Toby. "Do you, do you mind if I just go and lift weights in your dad's room?"

She shrugged. "I don't care."

Thank god.

He walked through. Wanted to shut himself in but that didn't seem polite, so he left the door ajar after he changed, and got to burning away the memories of crying girls and middle-aged creeps and smug fucking frat boys.

 

Elliot worked his way around the weight bench until his thighs were aching and his arms were trembling. He dropped the barbell in its cradle and felt the burn in his abs as he sat up, panting. He grabbed the towel to wipe the sweat from his face, feeling a little more in control. One very long, hot shower and he'd almost be able to face-

Holly was standing in the doorway, staring. A long, blonde ponytail and serious blue eyes. She could have been there for half an hour for all he knew, but even now, watching each other, she didn't say anything.

It was up to Elliot. He owed her an apology anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For being grumpy when I came in." For wishing she'd go away, now.

"You weren't."

Elliot stayed on the bench, chasing his breath, wondering if Holly wanted to talk or was just curious to watch. Sometimes he didn't know whether he was supposed to talk to her like one of his victims or one of his daughters, but she was finally approaching him, and he had to seize the chance. "How's the homework going?"

"I finished."

"Do you like middle school?"

"It's all right. Did you have a bad day at work?"

"Yeah." He hadn't hidden it that well, then.

"Why?"

Elliot took a long breath. "Sometimes I have to talk to bad guys. Sometimes that's not very nice." It was the simplest explanation he'd found for his kids when they were younger. Simple and neat and not nearly enough to encompass why a few hours undercover left him feeling like he'd dredged through the sewers of his own psyche.

He'd had to walk out of the interrogation room in the middle of threatening one of the frat boys. He hadn't had to be dragged out; maybe that was progress. He'd felt the monster battering inside him, that piece of Chris Keller that wouldn't leave him alone.

Holly was watching, out of questions, but it seemed like she wanted to talk about his temper, and Elliot didn't have that many opportunities to talk to her without Toby around. "I know you think I'm like Stalin or the man who took you, but-"

Her forehead crinkled. "I don't think you're like Hank."

Elliot stopped, surprised.

"Hank was evil. He was a monster. You're just angry."

"Sometimes there isn't a difference."

"It's different."

It was simple as that, for an eleven year-old. Elliot wished he could tell her how much it meant to hear it from her, knowing it wasn't some kind of platitude. At least Holly was holding him responsible for his actions. She had that in common with Kathleen. Sweat was beading on his forehead, so wiped his face again, the back of his neck.

"Is this what you do when you're angry?"

Elliot looked at the weights. "Yeah. Mostly."

"Ling, my counsellor, says that when I'm really angry, I should go and talk to somebody about something else for a while. And then I should talk about the bad thing after I calm down."

Elliot licked his lip. He had to step carefully. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

A few seconds passed, and then she shook her head. There was definitely something.

Elliot leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Are you angry a lot?"

Holly folded her arms, a familiar expression on her face. "My mother killed herself and my brother was murdered and my grandad was murdered and my dad's part crazy. Why would I be angry?"

He almost smiled. "Your dad does that."

"What?"

"Says the terrible things that have happened to him like they're nothing, to shock people. I'm not that easily shocked."

She looked down and shrugged.

"You're a lot better at hiding your anger than I am."

Her nose wrinkled. "You're big and strong and a boy. Nobody thinks you're weird if you're angry a lot."

It took the wind out of him completely. Holly didn't have suspects to shove around, or a boyfriend to punch. What did an eleven year-old girl do with her well-earned rage?

"Holly, did something happen?"

"No." She turned and walked away. Elliot gave her a second's head start and then borrowed a pair of Toby's sweatpants and followed, bringing the towel. The muscles in shoulders were cramping. He was sticky and probably stank, but there wasn't going to be any showering yet.

She was standing in the middle of the living room. Elliot pulled a chair from the table and sat, so he wouldn't loom over her. Be small, be casual, be understanding. "I'll bet sometimes you don't want to tell your dad things, because you don't want to upset him. You know you can talk to me, don't you?"

She shrugged. He waited.

She reached up for her ponytail, and twisted the end in her fingers. "You're coming to Vermont."

"That's right. And my kids. Do you mind?"

A dark look passed across her face, and Elliot braced himself. Finally she said, "I like you better than Harry." That hung there for a moment, and then she let a little smile creep out.

Ahhh. "Thanks." Elliot gave her a little smile back. He'd been bracing himself for another serve on him hitting Toby, or bullying at school, or a new hideous revelation from her past. He could barely speak for relief that it was a familiar problem being dredged up. "You and Harry don't get along, do you?"

"I hate him."

"I haven't met Harry. Is he angry, like me?"

She drifted over to perch on the arm of the couch. "No. He doesn't care."

"He doesn't care about getting along?"

"He doesn't care about anyone. He doesn't care about Dad." She looked around the room, considering. "Do your kids all like each other?"

"They fight sometimes, but they take care of each other, too. They all grew up living in each other's space, playing together, eating together. You and Harry don't have that."

"I had Gary."

Elliot stilled. He had a feeling he was going to be having an incredibly long conversation with Toby tonight. "You and Gary must have been close."

Her fingers dug into the couch, but she kept her chin steady. He could see it was an effort. "He stood up to the mean kids at school."

"Were there a lot of mean kids?" Her silence was enough of an answer. "It sounds like he was a good brother."

"He was the best."

Elliot's gaze drifted to a photo on the wall. Gary and Holly, eight and six years old, cheesy grins for the camera and their arms around each other outside a school. Toby had told him it was the last photo taken of Gary. "Why don't you come and sit down? You can tell me about him."

He could see her teetering, so he reached and pushed the chair out. At last, Holly came and sat with him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot was waiting for it when Toby came back from the bathroom, glasses on, and closed the bedroom door. "All right. Are you going to tell me what the hell was going on with you and Holly tonight?" Last week Holly hadn't stopped glaring at him, and since Toby got home tonight she'd been as shy and awkward as the day they met, right up until she surprised them both by hugging Elliot goodnight, thin arms winding around his neck, sliding away again before Elliot realised the gift he'd got. Toby had stared, wide-eyed. Like he was doing now.

Elliot sat on the bed. "She doesn't want to share Gary. That's why she got so angry that time at the zoo."

Toby kept right on staring. "I don't understand."

"I don't know if you know how close they were while you were inside. They relied on each other. They clung to each other after Genevieve died. Gary protected her from the bullies at school, and he spent the last few days of his life shielding her from Hank Schillinger, and she doesn't want Harry replacing him." She hadn't painted details, but now Elliot had a picture of the eight year-old boy in that photo putting himself between his little sister and a full-grown psycho.

It took Toby a full minute to shut his mouth. "She told you all that?"

"Yeah."

Elliot saw disappointment creep through the surprise. He'd seen it on a hundred parents, after learning second-hand about things their own kids had been afraid to tell them.

"She doesn't want to upset you. But she wants you to know, or she never would have told me."

Holly had never cried as she explained how Hank Schillinger had told her and Gary, right to their faces, that he had taken them to hurt Toby. Holly didn't have the words to explain, but it sounded like the way she saw it, if Toby was broken, Hank won, and she wasn't ever going to let Hank win. She'd told Elliot, 'Hank wasn't angry. He didn't care. His dad paid him to take us because his dad hated our dad.' Elliot had asked her permission for what he could tell Toby. She'd agreed to almost everything but that. Holly was right; it was more than Toby needed to know.

Toby rolled his jaw, and his eyes sparked. "What? There was nothing on TV, so you suddenly decided to play SVU detective with my daughter?"

"It wasn't like that." Talking to kids was Elliot's job, but so was talking to distraught parents. He had a few advantages with Toby. He reached and caught his hand, pulled him closer. "I came over in a mood and you weren't home so I came in here and lifted weights. She came in, she started asking about Vermont and if my kids get along." Holly was right: talking about something else had chased his own anger away. He'd forgotten all about the stress from work. "She hates that her fighting with Harry upsets you, but her loyalty to Gary comes first."

Elliot tugged, and Toby finally sat beside him. "I don't love Gary any less-"

"You hardly need to explain that to me."

Toby stared at the floor. "What did you tell her?"

"I talked about my twins, and how close they are, but how they still have Maureen and Kathleen. Suggested that maybe Harry needed a big sister to look out for him like Holly needed her big brother." He squeezed Toby's hand. "Don't expect any miracles."

Toby was quiet for a long time, so Elliot pushed him over on the bed and curled up behind to hold him, closed his eyes at the unsteady swell of Toby's lungs. Tried to imagine for the hundredth time this year what would be left of him if some scumbag took Dickie away, and left Lizzie broken. Not enough to function the way Toby did.

"She's strong, Toby. A lot of kids - plenty of adults - take that kind of trauma and hide themselves away. Holly's galvanised it into loyalty to her family."

"Harry's her family."

Elliot pressed his face into Toby's hair. "You and Gary and Holly - and your parents - you all weathered it together. That makes one hell of a bond." Toby had to feel it too. Harry had to feel it, had to know he wasn't part of that.

Toby fell quiet. Elliot pressed his nose in his hair and breathed him in, concentrated on the feel of him in his arms.

"She's got a lot of anger."

Toby huffed. "Don't we all?"

It was true. All of them had a little of the beast inside. Holly and Toby had found better ways to deal with theirs. Elliot needed to do the same, stop the endless cycle of rage and guilt.

He'd asked Holly how she fought her anger. She'd told him, "Ling says fighting anger just makes it bigger. She says you have to let it go."

He'd asked, "How do you do that?"

Holly had lifted her chin, smug as anything. "Hank and his dad wanted to hurt my dad. Every time I protect my dad, or hug him, I win."

Elliot had wanted to hug her. Maybe that was what he needed to do. Hug people more often. Keep his family closer.

Elliot breathed Toby's scent as he considered. It mattered that he said this right. "I know you hate that Holly saw you in prison, but it means something that she has that memory of you. Harry wasn't part of that. He still isn't part of rebuilding your life. You see him every couple of months; that's not going to build the relationship you want: not with you, not with Holly."

"It's all I've got."

"It doesn't have to be." Elliot squeezed him to keep him quiet, as his whole body tightened against Elliot's hold. "You're his father, Toby. All you have to do is say the word and you get to see him every day, and he and Holly get to be brother and sister."

"He doesn't want to live with me."

Elliot would never, ever let that get between him and his kids. No matter how difficult Kathleen got, he was never going to walk away. "It's not our job to give kids what they want. We're supposed to do what's best for them."

"What's best for them, not us. He's settled there. He has friends and stability, and Jonah and Marta are the family he's known his whole life. I'm not forcing him to move to New York."

Elliot read the danger rising in his tone, and dropped it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby woke suddenly, and alone.

It took a moment to remember Elliot had been here earlier. He felt the other side of the bed, found the sheets cold. Elliot had been telling him about his conversation with Holly, everything Holly had told him about Gary and Hank and all the anger inside her. Toby gritted his teeth. So much damage wreaked on everyone he loved, and every time he tried to look forward, another demon reared its head.

It was so stupid that he hadn't understood her. There'd never been a cross word or any kind of competition between her and Gary when they visited him in Oz. Toby had taken it for granted: them being so much closer in age than him and Angus, best behaviour for special occasions. He'd never thought of it as the two of them against the world. It shouldn't have taken Elliot to tell him that, but thank god for him.

He struggled up on his elbows, cracked his jaw wide on a yawn. He was still in his pants and polo shirt. Elliot must have taken off his glasses; he found them folded neatly on the nightstand.

Light shifted in the crack under the door. Elliot hadn't left. Toby yawned again and pressed himself out of bed, fumbled his glasses on and drunkenly wound his way out to the living room. It was cool out here. Elliot was lounging on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, feet up on the coffee table, lit by the flickering television. Some football game, of course.

Elliot snatched up the remote when he saw him. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

Toby waved a hand. "I can barely hear it." He dropped into the seat next to Elliot and curled up against him, knees in Elliot's lap, breathing that safe Elliot-scent, grateful for the arm that settled around his shoulders. First thing, he had to undo being such a jerk. "Thanks for taking care of Holly."

"Of course, Toby. I understand."

Of course he did. "It sounds like you're back on her good side."

A moment passed, and Elliot lifted the remote again, dropped the volume to just one bar over mute, nothing but the soft whisper of sibilants. "Yeah. I think so." He shifted under Toby; there was more to say, something on his mind. Toby prayed he hadn't been keeping anything even worse back from that conversation. Elliot's hand played in Toby's hair, trailing down to the nape of his neck, chest vibrating under Toby's cheek as he spoke. "I'm glad it was hard to win Holly's forgiveness. It was right, that she made me earn her trust. I should tell her that."

Toby splayed his hand over Elliot's stomach, waiting.

"I don't want you to be okay with me hitting you."

Toby sucked in a breath. They were really going back to that? "That was months ago. And I never said it was okay. I said I forgave you."

Elliot wouldn't let Toby sit up, so Toby was left watching the two suited, muted commentators on the screen out of the corner of his eye, feeling Elliot's voice rumble against his face. The frame of his glasses was sticking into his nose. "I don't want you to put up with the moods and the excuses Kathy put up with all those years." Toby felt more than heard the swallow. "I pushed her away because I knew if she saw inside me, she wouldn't love me anymore. Sometimes I think... that you loved Chris Keller and that should make me feel safe. You wanted someone darker and uglier than I could ever... so I don't have to be afraid of you seeing who I am. But this... what I'm carrying around; it shouldn't feel safe."

"Elliot..."

"I don't want to just be better than some rapist-murderer you loved in prison. I want to be one of the good guys. I want you to hold me to account, like Holly did."

Elliot comparing himself to Chris was ludicrous. But after what Toby had done to him, it was inevitable. The damage wasn't gone just because Elliot forgave Toby. Toby knew that better than anyone. "So what does a good guy do?"

"What do you mean?"

Toby wished he could see Elliot's face. He rubbed a hand over his stomach, played with the fabric of his t-shirt. "You said you want to be a good guy. Tell me what a good man does."

"He takes care of his family. He protects the weak. Controls his temper."

"Isn't that what you did today?"

"I had to walk out of an interrogation today."

"But you did walk out."

There was a long pause. "Yeah." Elliot's chest swelled beneath him, let go slowly. "A good man does it every day."

Toby wasn't going to get inside unless Elliot really started talking. He pushed against Elliot's grip and turned until he could see his profile. "Tell me what's been going on at work."

Elliot stared blindly at the game, reflection flickering in his eyes. "Today I had to tell a guy it's normal to get a chubby watching thirteen year-old girls." His voice turned hard. "'Just between us guys, pal, we all want a piece of that.' Making friends so he'd bring me into the circle."

"That's your job."

"It's not just words. I can't just recite a kiddie-diddler script."

"You have to feel it." Toby's stomach turned.

"I can talk for as long as you like about the irresistible delights of a thirteen year-old, just how much they want you to touch them while they're still ripe." His jaw clenched. "I'm really good at it. And then I'm supposed to go home and put my arms around Elizabeth. Come here and... look Holly in the eye." Elliot pulled his arm away, desperation creeping into his tone. "The other week I was talking to boys who'd been molested by this one scumbag, and the whole time I was listening, half my mind was trying to figure out what these kids did to lead him on, what their buttons were that he used to seduce them, getting in the perp's head so we could track him down."

"You climb inside the skin of monsters."

"They climb inside me." He grimaced. "I'm better at it than anyone else in the squad. Do you know how many times I've had to empathise with rapists, tell them the bitch deserved it? Tell them college girls wouldn't be drunk and wearing skirts like that if they didn't want some guy to show them a good time? Or I have to get in some prick's face, show him I'm angrier and scarier than he is. And then I come here and eat dinner with you and pretend it isn't all still in my head."

"You can always look me in the eye."

"I shouldn't."

If Elliot had any idea of the things Toby had done... "What happened that got you suspended?"

"I wasn't suspended. Not officially." Elliot sucked in a deep breath. "I lost it. I was supposed to intimidate this prick, this scumbag that raped and beat college girls, and I just.... I went red. I was yelling in his face, didn't even know what I was saying, just suddenly I was being pulled off and he was crying for his lawyer. We could've put him away for life if I'd got a confession. In the end they had to cut a deal, only got him ten years." Guilt soaked his voice.

Toby slid a hand along Elliot's cheek and forced him to look him in the eye. "There are days when nobody knows how hard you're holding yourself back from throttling some worthless piece of humanity. And there are other days when you're dealing with indescribable violence, and you don't feel a damned thing, and you don't know which is worse."

Elliot's eyes were glassy and his lips pressed tight. It took him a long time to turn his nod into a, "Yeah."

"I understand. I've swum through all that shit without any reason as noble as fighting for justice." He laid one hand gently against Elliot's face and wrapped the other tight around his wrist. "That doesn't make you a monster. That makes you human. Everyone's a lot closer than they think. Most of them just haven't been pushed to the edge."

He shook his head. "I don't want you to tell me it's okay."

Toby wished he could. "I'm not going to. But you have to forgive yourself." He pulled Elliot into his arms, let him hide his face in Toby's neck. Elliot's hands were clenched tight between them like he wanted to hit someone, or hold too tight. 

"I can't go on the way I have. I'll lose everyone. I've already lost my family-"

"You lost your wife. You still have your kids." And Toby wasn't going anywhere.

"Do I? Dickie and Elizabeth are hardly talking to me. I had another argument with Kathleen a few days ago. I was yelling; she was yelling... I could hear myself but I couldn't... Couldn't just shut my mouth."

Letting all this spill out was probably the best step Elliot had taken yet. "Have you tried talking to her the way you're talking to me?"

"I've tried talking-"

"I mean like this. Stop pretending to be tough for her. You want me to hold you to account? That's what I'm telling you. Step one on your twelve-step program is stop pretending you're angry when you're terrified. Let Kathleen see you're afraid." Toby stroked his hair. "Maybe she'll be strong for you."

Elliot's only answer was a soft snort.

"I won't tell you everything's okay, but I'll help you find your way through it if you let me. You can't scare me."

"I love you, Toby, but I can't stop wondering..."

Those three words again, and a great chasm where Toby was supposed to echo them.

"Do you still see Chris in me?"

"What? No!"

"That's who I see when I look in the mirror."

Toby was going to be undoing this for a long time. "I told you, you're nothing like Chris. You think you're like him because you drive yourself into the ground protecting people? Chris did one selfless act in his entire life." Toby pushed Elliot back to hold his gaze. "If I thought you were like him, you wouldn't be here in my home. Chris had me but he never met Holly or Harry. I never gave him that part of me. I trusted him with me but I never trusted him with my kids."

Toby could see it processing. Elliot didn't completely believe him, but he was listening. "Holly told me I'm not a monster. Just angry."

"You should listen to her. She's smarter than either of us." Toby reached down and squeezed Elliot's hand. "You're may be good with criminals but you talk to victims, too. What you got out of Holly today... Thank you."

"That felt good, getting her to talk." Elliot swallowed. "I like talking to victims. I'm good at that, too."

"I know it better than anyone."

Elliot frowned. "That's not what you are to me. You know that, right? I don't see you that way."

"I know." Toby wondered how far he could push this while Elliot was talking. "El, are you thinking of quitting the force?"

"I don't know."

Toby caught his breath. He'd expected an overly-protesting no. "Or asking for a transfer?"

"I don't know. I've... I've been talking to the counsellor about it. I love my job, but doing what I do... I feel like an alcoholic working in a brewery."

Toby wanted to tell Elliot he was proud of him for following through with the counselling, but he wasn't sure Elliot would take that as a compliment. "Sit on it a while. Maybe just knowing that leaving is an option will help."

"Maybe."

"Whatever you decide, I'll be here."

Elliot gave him a sad smile, and tugged him forward so their foreheads pressed. "I'm glad you are, Toby."

"Me too." He was glad Elliot was here, for him and Holly.

"And you're sexy as hell in your glasses."

Toby snorted.

Elliot pulled Toby against him, slid a leg over Toby's. "Haven't I ever told you that? I've always liked you in your glasses."


	56. The long drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 55, What good guys do:  
> Elliot had another bad day at work, came looking for Toby and found Holly instead. He took directly to the weights.  
> Holly came looking to talk - about his anger, about her anger, about what a shit Harry is.  
> Toby was hurt that Elliot had dug up so much of Holly's feelings on her brothers. And not willing to be pushed to force Harry to New York. But after a little sleep he came out for a deep & meaningful in front of the TV, where Elliot finally confessed to the damage the job was doing to him, the grip Chris Keller had on him, so Toby could show him how much he understood.

Holly opened the bedroom door and peeked in.

"Holly."

She closed it again, wrinkling her nose. "Is he ever going to wake up?"

Toby was starting to wonder that himself. He hadn't seen Elliot in almost a week, had been down to a few terse phone calls, and then he woke up this morning and there was Elliot, passed out on his face beside him, not a toss nor a turn to be seen.

Elliot's last visit had been heavy. After all that digging into his feelings, all that talk of Chris, it wouldn't have been unlike Elliot to hide at work all week.

Toby had given Elliot a nudge a few hours ago, just to be sure, got a grunt and a wriggle and left it at that. Elliot hadn't so much as rolled over all day. It was halfway through the afternoon, and there was still no sign. Toby missed him; it took all of his poor self control not to wake him up. Holly's impatience wasn't helping.

"How about this recipe? It uses apple."

Holly wandered back to look.

 

They argued their way through stuffing recipes for another thirty minutes, until they heard a quiet, "Hey."

Holly snorted. "He's alive."

Toby smiled up at the rumpled figure in his bedroom doorway, slouching sheepishly in dark sweatpants and a white tank top, muscles and tattoos bulging out all over the place. "Hey. Sleep well?"

Elliot rubbed his eyes and his stubble, scratched a hand through his hair, looking ready to go back in and pass out again. He still had creases across his face from the pillow. "Sorry."

Toby went to him, laid a hand on his chest and kissed him. With Holly back in Elliot's camp, they didn't have to play it cool anymore. Even with the sour edge of morning breath, Elliot tasted good. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad you came here." Toby wanted to crowd him straight back in there and smell his way all over this sweaty skin. Maybe Holly wouldn't mind if they disappeared for a while.

"I wish you'd woken me earlier. I gotta go home, see the kids."

Toby swallowed his disappointment. If Elliot had told him... "Do you need to go right now?"

"Nah. Got a while." He lumbered past Toby to sit at the table with all the cookbooks and recipe printouts. "What are you two working on?"

"We're planning Thanksgiving lunch," announced Holly. "Are your kids excited about Vermont?"

"They're, um, curious."

That was diplomatic. He'd been diplomatic every time Toby asked that too, which had Toby wary. Toby followed him back to the table.

"They'll like it. We went there with Gran and Grandad when I was little. How's Olivia?"

"She's getting better. Thank you for asking. She says hello."

Toby made Elliot a double-shot coffee while Holly showed him the recipe plan and asked if he preferred his corn boiled or baked.

Elliot took the coffee gratefully and tugged Toby down to sit beside him, left a hand on his thigh as Holly chatted. That was all it took for Toby to stop worrying that Elliot had been avoiding him. Elliot let Holly think aloud, agreeing with Toby whenever Toby pinched his leg. Eventually he drained his cup and gave Toby's leg a squeeze. "Now I just need to shower and brush my teeth, and I'll be human."

Toby waited a couple of minutes and then followed him into the bathroom. "You've got a towel?"

Elliot bent over the sink to spit out his toothpaste and rinse his mouth, grey briefs stretching over his ass, white tank top riding up his waist. He nodded to the towel on the side. "Helped myself. Sorry I slept so long."

"Looked like you needed it. How are you doing?"

"Good. We got the prick." Elliot's chest swelled with vicious pleasure. "You should have seen little Arden, cool as a cucumber, telling him he was going to jail for ever and ever and ever."

"How's your temper been?"

Elliot frowned, already defensive. "Why?"

Toby leaned back against the door jamb. "You wanted to be held to account. I'm asking."

The tension held a few more seconds and then Elliot let it go. "I've been fine. Hard to be a loose canon when Cragen's the one partnering me half the time."

"Did you get any sleep this week?"

"I've been sleeping in the crib, mostly. Got a couple of nights on Liv's couch when the captain kicked me out."

"How is she?"

Elliot rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. That wasn't a good sign. "It's really starting to get her down. She wants to get back to the job but half an hour of reading gives her a headache. The doctors haven't cleared her to drive; it might be months. I got her a couple of audio books, and that's helping, but I think even that pushes her concentration." He was trying to sound casual, but Toby could hear the strain. "She's starting to worry she won't ever get back to work, and it scares the hell out of her."

Toby reached out and pulled him. Elliot resisted for a second, but Toby tugged and he gave in, arms wrapping tightly around Toby's shoulders. Even then the breath in Toby's ear was carefully controlled.

Only half a minute, and when Elliot let go he was composed. "I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"How many rooms are there in your house in Vermont?"

"It's big. We used to have our whole extended family up there. Why?"

"I know that you wanted this to be our families... Usually Olivia works Thanksgiving to let other people take off, but this year she can't work and she doesn't have-"

"Bring her."

"Are you sure? I know it's not what you-"

"I just said yes, and now you're trying to talk me out of it?" Toby liked Olivia, and one more person who was happy about Toby and Elliot being together couldn't hurt.

"I wouldn't ask but if she stays home all weekend stewing-"

"And now you're trying to convince me again?" Toby rubbed his shoulder. "Elliot, bring her. She's family to you, isn't she?"

Elliot took a deep breath. "Yeah. She is."

"Holly likes her."

"Little girls always love Olivia. Lizzie hero-worships her."

"I'd love to have her up there, El. Invite her." Toby liked that Elliot cared enough to take care of her.

Elliot kissed him, minty and fresh. "Thank you."

Toby pulled his tank top over his head. "Get yourself in the shower. You smell like you've been asleep for days."

He wandered out to tell Holly they needed to add a couple of dishes, so they started flipping back through the blue 'maybe' post-its. Holly loved the idea of Olivia coming.

Half an hour later Elliot came through and dumped his bag by the door. "I'd better be going."

Holly's face fell. "You're leaving?" It was a far cry from two weeks ago, when she would have gladly shoved him out the door.

"Elliot has to see his own family occasionally, Hol."

"But I thought you'd stay here today."

Elliot looked as bemused as Toby felt. "I've been tied up at work all week. It's been nice hanging out with you, but I miss my kids."

She looked between them. "But... today?"

Elliot looked at Toby, and Toby scratched through his brain for - oh. He hadn't noticed the date.

"Am I missing something?" asked Elliot.

"Nothing, it's-"

"It's a year since Dad and I moved into our own apartment."

Toby trailed off, embarrassed. 

"Seriously? Toby, you should have told me." Elliot checked his watch, like he was actually considering juggling his kids and Toby's moving house anniversary.

"Elliot, go be with your kids." He brushed his hand through Holly's hair. "I don't want a fuss. I just want to spend today with Holly." It was half a lie, but a white one. "I want to spend Thanksgiving with all of you." He took a step closer to Elliot. "That's what I want."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." It was nice that Elliot hesitated, but Toby wanted the man who'd make Toby secondary to his kids.

Elliot hugged him. "Congratulations, Toby. I'll pick you up when I finish work on Wednesday."

Toby felt like a kid, the way his heart picked up. "Are you sure you'll get out early?"

"I'm not going to jinx it, but Cragen's eager to see the back of me." Elliot shrugged on his overcoat. One more kiss, and he was out the door.

Thanksgiving really was what Toby was looking forward to. He'd been in a haze his first few weeks out: wandering his mother's unfamiliar house, lost for what to do, how to act. Wondering if it would be creepy to just sit and watch Holly all day every day - at least, when he wasn't staring in wonder at all the choices in the fridge, or relishing the luxury of taking a shit in private. He'd managed to get himself together to rent this place, but it was only when the family piled home for Thanksgiving that Toby started getting a grip, even if that grip was mostly on how much he didn't want to be the old Tobias Beecher.

Toby turned to Holly, who was looking put-out. He wondered if this was her way of making up for passing over his parole anniversary, or if this was the date that meant something to her. "Today's for you and me, okay?"

She sighed. "Okay."

"What do you want to do?"

She went blank. "What can we do?"

He shuffled through ideas for a couple of minutes. What did he use to do for anniversaries? The idea struck, and he smiled. "Let's get dressed up and go out to the fanciest restaurant we can book on two hours notice."

"Really? Yeah!"

Toby called around while Holly showered, and then had the much better idea of calling his mother's butler. In twenty minutes, Samuel had a table for them at Le Bernardin.

Toby pulled his good suit from the back of the closet and unzipped the bag, hoping it would still fit over his prison body. He tried to remember the last time he wore it. A night with Genevieve? No, he was pretty sure it was out to dinner and drinks - lots of drinks - with colleagues. What a waste.

He showered and shaved. It felt like a thousand years since he'd dressed up. It was lucky it had all been stored properly. If he knew his mother, she'd probably sent it to the cleaners while he was waiting on release. He took his time dressing: undershirt, dress shirt, socks, pants. Black tie. The jacket was a little tight across the shoulders, but nothing shameful.

He took a deep breath, and stepped in front of the mirror. Oh. It wasn't what he'd expected.

He'd expected to see a thirty year-old alcoholic, but that Toby was long-gone. The man in the mirror looked like he'd left forty far behind him, but Toby didn't mind that. He would have passed for one of his father's colleagues, a greying lawyer who worked too-long hours and took his family out to fancy restaurants on anniversaries. He'd take it.

He left his shoes behind and wandered through to the bathroom to find Holly in a girly pink dress, running tongs down her hair. "You own a hair straightener?"

"Yeah." She bit her lip as she separated off the next chunk of hair. With the waves pulled out, her hair almost reached her butt.

He blinked and looked closer. "You own make up?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah." It was just a little eyeliner and shadow, but it was enough to age her three or four years. She finally looked away from the mirror, and a huge grin broke across her face. "You look shiny."

Toby grinned back. "You look beautiful. All grown up."

She blushed.

"Moving in meant a lot to you, huh?"

Holly nodded, suddenly sad. "This is when it got to be just us. And I knew you weren't going back there."

That seemed fair, after what Toby did to her the first time he was paroled. There was no one in his life now who'd risk that. "No chance."

Holly put down the tongs, and gave him hug.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby checked over his shoulder. Holly was slumped against the window, well out of it, face occasionally lit by the headlights of passing cars. She was like that when she was a toddler; you just put her in a car and out she went.

Elliot gave him a sideways glance. "Dickie was the same. Slept on every trip we took." He checked the mirror. "I thought she'd still be talking about your anniversary dinner when we hit Massachusetts."

That night had definitely been a hit. "Holly wanted to cancel the turkey and try an all-seafood Thanksgiving. Try her hand at sauteed langoustine."

"That wouldn't have gone down well with Lizzie. I'm sorry I missed you all polished up in your suit."

Toby rolled his head along the headrest. "I don't think candlelit dinners at Le Bernardin are really our scene."

The smile softened. "You never know."

Toby could hardly believe this was really happening. He'd pushed and wheedled, and he'd got what he wanted but it seemed unreal. Elliot Stabler, grumpy crusader against criminals everywhere, was going to spend Thanksgiving with Toby. Bring his kids up to stay like they were all one big incongruous family.

It should have been terrifying: they were picking Harry up from the airport tomorrow, and Toby was going to have to explain everything, hope it didn't wreck the fragile new relationship they had. He had to hope Holly and Harry wouldn't kill each other. Elliot's kids were getting the train up the day after, and there was no telling what they were going to walk into, or what sort of chaos they were going to throw into the mix.

Whatever happened, Toby was sure it would go better with Elliot around. Toby was going to be a better man with Elliot around.

Elliot switched lanes as they crept up on another car. "Sorry we left so late."

"It's fine. We were going to arrive late, anyway. Are you sure you're all right to drive?" 

"I'll let you know if I need to pull over."

The plan had been to leave in the afternoon, make it into the early traffic, stop for ice cream and dinner on the way, but of course Elliot had been held up at work.

Toby really didn't mind the time. The engine's hum was soothing, the radio low. Toby only noticed it was on because Elliot was tapping out the rhythm on his thigh, his other hand curled over the top of the wheel, eyes focused on the dark road ahead. Toby didn't care if they never got to Vermont. If they just kept on driving, all the way to the northern-most tip of Quebec, Elliot beside him and Holly sleeping peacefully in back, he'd be happy. More than happy. Content.

Chris was on his mind. He'd been thinking of Chris a lot since his long talk with Elliot. Trying to imagine Chris here, in this life, and failing.

Toby wasn't going to rewrite history, pretend it was anything other than love he'd felt for Chris. Chris had tapped a well of emotions that made Toby feel as vulnerable as Vern ever did, and that chasm was still there, echoing. It hardly seemed to make sense to use the same word for what he felt for Elliot. Elliot made him feel safe. Elliot made him look forward to next year, maybe even five years from now.

Elliot looked at him, eyebrow raised, and Toby realised he'd been staring. He faced forward, to the hypnotic roll of the highway markings under the headlights. Toby would never ruin his life for Elliot. He'd never, even for a second, compromise his relationship with Holly or Harry for Elliot. He wouldn't cover up any crimes Elliot committed. At least, not bad ones. He'd keep his mouth shut about the red light when they got off the highway for gas in Hartford.

They crept up behind another car; Elliot threw the indicator on and changed lanes again. His eyes seemed especially sharp in the darkness, his profile more angular.

Many times, Toby had inventoried the damage Chris had done to his life, alphabetised and prioritised, categorised, but he'd never counted how much Chris had fucked up his ideas of love. He'd mangled it into need and pain, an obsession that squeezed until something broke.

Elliot looked over again. "You okay?"

Toby checked Holly was still sleeping, and reached to put a hand on Elliot's thigh. "I love you."

Elliot's gaze turned back to the road, and his hands tightened on the wheel. It wasn't the response Toby expected. 

The quiet stretched, and Toby wondered what he was waiting for Elliot to say. That it was too late? That it was something of an anti-climax, coming this long after Elliot said it? That Elliot didn't believe him?

Elliot glanced at Toby, eyes wide. "Toby, you don't have to-"

"I think I'd forgotten that love doesn't have to hurt. It doesn't have to cut a piece out of you. I forgot it can just... make you happy."

Elliot's hand covered his, picked it up and he kissed Toby's fingers. "I love you." He put their hands back on his leg, and there they stayed for the rest of the drive.


	57. Family portraits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 56, The long drive:  
> Elliot came for a sleeping visit, and to add Olivia to the Thanksgiving guest list. Holly was disappointed that he wouldn't stay to celebrate a year of Holly and Toby's independent living, but he was forgotten in favour of fancy clothes and fine dining.  
> On the long, late drive to Vermont, Toby put some thought to his feelings for Elliot, and finally found the words Elliot needed to hear.
> 
>  ---
> 
> Huge thanks to Elayna, from whom I sourced all my Thanksgiving cooking information. She was kind enough to give an incredibly detailed portrait of your weird Thanksgiving traditions, to which Holly made some alterations.
> 
> Technically, yes, you're unlikely to find community ski areas open for Thanksgiving in Vermont. This is going to be one of those things you accept and move on, okay?

A sensor light blinked on as they pulled into the driveway.

Elliot climbed out of the car, grateful to stretch his legs and even more grateful to be done with the icy night driving. And already shivering. He hoped Toby was telling the truth about the caretaker turning the heating up for them. Elliot had lifted an eyebrow at that. "Caretaker?"

Toby had rolled his eyes. "You can hardly leave a house up here unattended. Arthur looks after a lot of houses around here."

Arthur had cleared the driveway. Elliot had been expecting patches of snow here and there, but they'd had a surprise fall last night and the lawn was covered. The house was modest, at least as far as Elliot had been expecting. Two stories, about the size of his and Kathy's house, with a bigger yard.

"Wait here. Arthur said he left the garage door clicker on the table." Toby crunched across the thin layer of snow to the front door, arms wrapped around himself against the chill. Elliot was watching his ass.

Toby loved him. Elliot pulled in a long breath, felt the icy air tickle his throat, swell in his chest. Toby loved him, and in a few words he'd managed to dispel all Elliot's fears about being second best. Elliot was never going to understand Toby and Chris, but whatever they'd had, it was nothing to be jealous of.

After another minute he climbed back in the car. Holly was still fast asleep.

The garage door trundled up, and Elliot drove inside. He couldn't help smiling as Toby came in and tugged Holly out of the car, and then hoisted her up to carry her. She barely woke far enough to wrap her legs around his waist. "Isn't she getting a little big for that?"

"I missed most of the years I could have done this. Grab a couple of bags, will you?"

Elliot loaded himself up and followed Toby through the door into the main house, grateful for the blast of heat. Toby was managing to carry Holly up the stairs, so Elliot doubled back for the rest of the bags, dropping them just inside the house. They could figure it all out in the morning, when Elliot wasn't still wound up from hours concentrating on the road.

He looked around. This was the home Toby had been eager to show him. It was simply furnished and bare of clutter. Like a vacation home, Elliot supposed. Timber floors with plush rugs, comfortable-looking couches in front of a fancy glass-doored wood-burning stove with logs set ready to light inside, and more stacked beside it. There was a huge old-wood dining table, made for entertaining a big family. He tried a door and found a bathroom, towels already hanging, so he emptied his bladder gratefully. Wandered out to explore the sprawling open-plan kitchen. There was a note on the fridge from Arthur to say the groceries had arrived and been put away, posted alongside instructions for trash collection and controlling the heat.

Arms slipped around Elliot's waist, and Toby's head pressed against his neck. "Hey."

"Hey." Elliot covered Toby's hands and just stood there for a while, enjoying the company. Feeling loved. "Show me your home."

"This is the kitchen."

"I already used my cunning detective skills to figure that out."

Lips pressed against Elliot's neck. "My dad used to make gingerbread at Christmas. It was the only thing he knew how to cook, and up here was the only time he had time to do it. It was amazing. I helped. Or hindered, maybe. The whole house smelled good enough to eat."

Elliot tried to imagine his own dad baking, and drew a blank. The kitchen was women's work. His dad took care of the yard, the house, probably only ever strayed into the kitchen to fix something that broke. "I don't think my father knew how to brew his own coffee." He felt Toby's gaze, waiting for more, but Elliot shook his head. He didn't want to ruin this mood. "Tell me about your dad."

"He was a big guy. Six-foot-five and broad-shouldered. He had this ridiculous fur flyer's hat he used to wear when we went out in the snow... It's probably around here somewhere." He glanced towards the door, like he might see it hanging up. "Right to the end, y'know, he thought I was a good person. No matter how much I fucked up... I remember him standing in the visiting room at Oz, telling me I was remarkable."

Elliot thought Harrison Beecher had it right.

Toby tugged him out to the main room and looked around, sifting through memories. "Gary took his first steps here. Headed straight for the stove. It wasn't the last time we had to dive for him - he loved fire. He'd stare at it for hours."

Toby led him through the house, catching Elliot's elbow as he shared stories, eyes alight. Looking as happy as Elliot had ever seen him. "Tomorrow I'll show you the park where I smoked my first cigarette." He straightened. "Which reminds me." He went to the pile of bags, dug through Holly's blue school backpack until he grunted and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

Elliot's eyebrows rose. "That's still going on?"

"It's a work in progress." He shoved the pack in his back pocket and pointed out the stick figure artwork hanging in frames on the way up the stairs: family pictures drawn by him and Angus when they were kids, and then one by Gary: a mother in a triangle dress and father with a tie, a little boy in blue and a baby in pink, all smiling as they stood on a green line of grass under a blue line of sky, with a spiky yellow sun. Toby ran a finger along the frame. "He'd be fourteen now."

Next was Holly's, and then one each from his nephews. "I'll have to make sure we get something from Harry."

Elliot ducked back down to catch up their bags and shut off the lights before he followed him up. He wondered who Harry would draw in his family picture.

Toby had put Holly to sleep in his own childhood bed, so Elliot was led along to the master bedroom.

Elliot put the bags down. This was something else. A king-size bed with a cloud-like comforter, under broad picture windows that he was sure would give him a view of something breathtaking in the morning.

Toby looked him over. "Are you tired?"

"No. But I'm ready for bed." Elliot hooked two fingers in Toby's pants and tugged him close. "I love you." Now he could tell Toby he loved him without it being a question. Toby loved him. Toby was happy. This weekend might be a disaster, but tonight it was just the two of them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They picked Harry up from the airport early, and headed to a local community ski slope mid-morning. Elliot politely declined a lesson of his own while he watched Toby in his thick red parka and his father's fur flying hat teach Holly and Harry to ski. He showed them all sorts of positions, turning his own skis this way and that, leaning forwards and to the sides as he taught them to stand and stop and turn, pointing out people on the slope as he explained safety and etiquette.

Harry had something of a resemblance to Toby, but he looked more like the photos of Genevieve. It made Holly's likeness to Toby stronger: the snub nose, the way she narrowed her eyes. Toby had introduced Elliot to Harry this morning as his 'friend', and Harry hadn't made anything of it. He'd shaken Elliot's hand, and gone back to telling Toby about how he was thinking of joining the air force instead of the navy.

Toby made them both laugh, and then led them to the smallest hill's rope tow. Elliot didn't think Toby's glow was entirely from the icy wind. Holly was reluctant at first - she never did like anything that got the adrenaline going - but Harry was a natural, and she wasn't going to let him have Toby's attention to himself. But the two kids were getting along well enough, like a couple of strangers who never expected to see each other again. Elliot wondered how much time Toby had spent begging Holly to behave herself.

Watching this made Elliot look forward to seeing his tomorrow. He was nervous as hell about how they'd be with Toby, but it wasn't the holiday without his family. They'd called him earlier from Kathy's sister's in New Jersey, where they were having the Thanksgiving day Elliot had shared with Kathy for the last twenty years. That had been weird.

Now Holly stood to the side, glaring as Harry dragged Toby higher up the hill. Higher than Holly was willing to go. Toby was laughing, egging Harry on even as he reminded him to bend his knees and mind where his skis were pointing. Elliot hoped Holly wasn't going to ruin this. He bent down for a handful of snow, packed it up and threw it at Holly's neck. She rounded on him, indignant, so Elliot looked behind him, looking for someone else to blame, and felt a snowball hit his leg. Perfect. Suddenly it was on, and she'd dumped her skis to chase him, snowballs flying while Toby got some time alone with Harry.

They fought until they were sitting on the snow, panting, and Elliot had ice trickling down his neck, and then Holly glared up at Toby and Harry as they headed for the T-bar up the bigger hill. Elliot leaned over to bump his arm against her shoulder. "You have lots of things you get to share alone with your dad, Hol. How about you let Harry and your dad share scary things?"

"I'm not a chicken."

Holly wasn't a chicken by a long shot. "I know that. You don't have to enjoy scary things. I don't like going to the theatre. My daughter Lizzie hates the beach."

"I love the theatre!"

"If you promise never to make me go see a show, then I promise I'll never make you ski from the top of that hill."

"Maybe you just haven't seen anything good. You should see 'Into the Woods'."

"Maybe you should try skiing from the top of the hill."

She looked at him like she was about to argue, and then a smile cracked through. "It's a really good show."

"That's a really good hill."

She settled back. "How come you're not skiing, anyway?"

"Because I can't afford to take time out of my career with a broken leg."

"So you're scared of skiing."

Elliot opened his mouth to explain the difference between the fear of getting hurt and the fear of medical bills putting his family into bankruptcy, and then he closed his mouth again. What did it hurt for Holly to think even big men had their phobias? So he just told her to be quiet, and enjoyed the giggle.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot was watching Holly putting the finishing touches on a snow-castle in the front yard. A couple more inches had fallen sometime in the night, enough for building out of the drifts. He'd been charged with the heavy lifting as Toby led Harry off to the park to talk, but now Harry was gone, Elliot was forgotten. Toby had predicted right: Elliot was Holly's new best friend. Their talk last weekend had fixed the last of the damage Elliot had done when he hit Toby, but Elliot suspected their new closeness had a lot more to do with her showing Harry she was on the inside.

Sitting alone on the porch, watching someone else's kid. It was the most un-Thanksgiving ever. No turkey or pumpkin pie, no Macy's parade on the TV in the background, none of Elliot's own family. They were saving it all for Saturday. Even then, no beer: Olivia still couldn't drink after the accident, so unless Elliot wanted to split a six-pack with Maureen - which he didn't - he would have been drinking alone. At least Toby had promised Elliot and Harry they could watch the game this afternoon while he and Holly got started cooking.

That was the plan, depending how things went with Harry. Toby was explaining Elliot to Harry right now, the first big hurdle of the weekend. Elliot was feeling a lot less good about that than he had a couple of days ago, now that he'd seen Toby and Harry interact. There'd been some nice progress on the slope this morning, but when they came home for a late lunch, Harry was back to reacting with stiff formality to Toby's overtures, like he was a distant uncle. Toby seemed to take it as normal.

Elliot's gut tightened. There they were, coming slowly down the street. Harry was walking a good few steps ahead of Toby. Too far ahead to still be talking. Even from here, Elliot could see the slump in Toby's shoulders. It hadn't gone well.

He waited until they reached the yard, Harry staring at Elliot like he was an alien as he stalked past, heading straight in the front door and slamming it behind him.

Toby sat beside Elliot on the step, ignoring Holly's curious look as he said, just loud enough for Elliot to hear, "He wants to go home."

Elliot wanted to reach out to him, but he held back. "Don't let him."

"I told him even if I wanted, I can't put him on a flight this soon, but he wasn't hearing it. He's upstairs packing."

"What did he say, exactly?"

"That it's weird and wrong and haven't I embarrassed him enough? And I should leave him alone with Jonah and Marta and stop ruining his life."

There were tears in his eyes. Elliot wanted to pull him close, but he didn't know if that was what Toby wanted. Toby probably didn't want to break down in front of Holly - Elliot couldn't stand to lose it in front of his kids.

"It will be better when my kids get here tomorrow."

"I thought you were still worried about yours."

"I am." But what else was he supposed to say? Whatever other problems they had, Elliot was pretty sure they wouldn't stand for Harry being openly homophobic. He waved his hand. "It will be like your big family gatherings: more people, more breathing room. Maybe he'll sulk for a while, but he'll get to see everyone else getting along. It's hard for a kid to pout when other people are having fun without him." He could see how badly Toby wanted to believe it. "This is the part of parenting you just have to weather. Or so Kathy keeps trying to tell me. Didn't you ever tell your parents they were ruining your life?"

Toby snorted. "Yeah. Then I slammed my door and threw myself on my bed and swore I'd be a better parent than them."

"Yeah."

Toby's phone rang, and that little bit of calm evaporated. "That will be Jonah."

Elliot laid a hand on his back. "How about I take Holly for a walk?"

Toby looked up at Holly, who'd stopped pretending to play and was watching like a worried mother. "Thanks."

He pulled his phone out and Elliot caught his wrist before he could answer. "Don't let them convince you there's anything wrong with the way I feel about you." He kissed Toby's forehead and got up to escort Holly out of the way. 

She looked longingly at her father, but let Elliot nudge her towards the sidewalk. He understood: he didn't want to leave Toby alone with that phone call, either. The lake was somewhere this way. "I told you he's horrible," said Holly. Elliot let it go.

A couple of minutes' walk and they found the lake, the water stretching all the way to the horizon. There were a couple of boats out there: yachts and die-hard fishermen with their own Thanksgiving traditions. They lingered for half an hour, barely talking, until Elliot saw Holly shiver, and then he led the way home.

He guessed he wasn't going to be watching the game with Harry after all. Elliot wished he could: maybe he could find a line to Harry. Or maybe Toby wouldn't want him waltzing in with his children again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby chopped the onion slowly, reminding himself every few cuts not to throw the knife at a cabinet. He'd finally shooed Elliot out of the kitchen to sit on the couch and watch the football, the least he could do for him after dragging him into this mess. Toby wished he'd waited until after the game to talk to Harry, so that Elliot and Harry could have had some time to get to know each other before this all blew up, but then he also wished he'd put off telling Harry until Christmas. Or his twenty-first birthday. Elliot had tried: he'd gone up to coax Harry down, but to no one's surprise, he'd come back alone.

Holly crept up and took a bowl, and crept away again, and Toby wished she didn't read him so well, wished he could calm himself enough to soothe her. He wished a lot of things.

Jonah's phone call tirade on Toby's selfishness was still boiling his blood. Jonah had blamed Toby for dumping it on Harry without warning, he'd accused Toby of bringing home some casual partner, he'd tried to paint it that Harry was disgusted by men fucking each other, that this would ruin any chance Toby had of building a relationship with him. Jonah had said everything except what he really thought: that he was the one disgusted. That a goddamned homo had no right to be a father to his grandson.

Toby unclenched his fingers, took a long, slow breath. Jonah was full of shit. Harry was too young to care what men did in the bedroom. At ten years old he'd be just as grossed-out by straight sex. He only understood that his absent father was being weird and different, again, that this was another social embarrassment being visited on him by an almost-stranger.

Harry didn't hate Toby. He didn't care enough to feel anything like that. Toby was a nuisance to him, a frustrating interloper into his steady world, nagging for attention Harry didn't want to give.

He grabbed another onion, reminded himself to be calm, and started slicing.

Toby had been shaking with fury ever since the call, but he couldn't vent to Elliot just yet. Elliot might tell him to just bring Harry home, and Toby would lose the last thread of his temper. It was as simple for Elliot as it had been for Chris: he's your blood, he belongs with you. But Harry wasn't a possession. He was a person, and he was happy in San Diego. He had friends and a life and he loved Jonah and Marta, and Toby couldn't drag him out of all that just because Jonah was a homophobic prick. If Toby broke up his home, Harry would have every right to hate him. Toby wouldn't do it.

This whole weekend had been a stupid idea. He should have listened to Elliot but he'd blundered in, wanting to get everything over with at once, and now he had Harry trapped here, Elliot's kids on their way to add fuel to the fire, and Elliot dragged into the middle of it all. Thank god Elliot was being such a saint about it.

A little air rushed out of him. Thank god for Elliot.

Toby swept the onion into a bowl and wiped his hands on a towel. He dug deep into the fridge and wandered into the living room to lean over the back of the couch, laid a cold bottle against Elliot's chest, made him jump.

Elliot took the beer, twisting to meet his eyes. "Toby, you didn't have to buy this."

"It's okay, I sent Holly to the store to buy it."

Elliot just raised an eyebrow.

"I'm guessing it's one of your Thanksgiving traditions."

"We're breaking a lot of traditions this year."

"All the more reason to preserve a few." He rested his elbows on the back of the couch, and more quietly, he added, "I don't want Holly thinking it's some kind of unnameable evil. I can't drink, so I'm going to let you model a healthy relationship with alcohol."

Elliot nodded with a small smile. "Football does go better with beer. Thank you, Toby."

Toby leaned forward and kissed him, stroked his neck. "The rest of the six-pack is down the bottom of the fridge."

Elliot caught the collar of his polo shirt. "Are you all right?"

That was a big question. "Need some time to calm down."

Elliot nodded, understanding.

There must have been something going on here, because Toby was tempted to slide over and join him, and he hated football. But there was cooking to do, so he headed back to the kitchen as Elliot cracked the lid on his bottle. Nobody would have dared switch on a television at his parent's house at a family celebration, but he decided he liked the background drone. Or maybe it was just the reminder that Elliot was settled nearby.

Maybe Toby should start paying attention to football, use it to make a connection to Harry.

Holly had taken Toby's onions and was frying them up for the stuffing. She'd found a grey pinstripe apron in one of the drawers that hung well past her knees. He didn't know if she knew that was the one his father used to wear for baking gingerbread.

He kissed the top of her head. "How are you doing, Hol?"

"I'm okay." She gave him a long look.

"Me too." He smiled until she returned it. "What's next?"

She swished the onion around the frypan. "You could start the pumpkin."

"Got it." Toby dug out the steamer. Holly had at some point decided that befriending Elliot's kids was going to live or die on impressing them with Thanksgiving lunch. It didn't seem like a healthy approach, but fighting her on it seemed hypocritical. Toby was keeping charge of the turkey, and a careful eye on the scheduling, but he let Holly organise as much as she could.

 

Elliot wandered in as Toby was digging through mixing bowls. "Can I help?"

"We're fine. Enjoy your game."

"It's not the same alone. The game's a train wreck anyway. Give me something to chop up, and don't mind me if I wander off if something exciting happens."

"You can cut things up for the couscous salad," said Holly, laying a recipe print-out in front of him.

"Okay, boss."

Holly passed vegetables out from the fridge, explaining the exact size and shape she wanted each diced. Elliot waited until she'd turned back to take the pie crust out of the oven before he let his smile out.

He looked good. Tight jeans that cupped his ass and a black sweatshirt that stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to show those raunchy forearms. Elliot had great forearms. Corded muscles that flexed as he chopped peppers or jerked Toby off. The tattoo that said Elliot had been proud to serve his country.

Toby didn't know if Elliot's mischievous look was because he knew Toby was watching, or because Holly was being so picky. Though when Elliot reached around him to pull a different knife from the block, pressing for just a moment, Toby had his suspicions. Elliot went back to his chopping board, and Toby went back to mashing pumpkin.

There was cheering from the television, and Elliot rushed out to see what he was missing. Harry was upstairs contemplating his social demise, and Toby was down here with a hard-on for his boyfriend. He was going to hell. But for now, he was taking whatever distractions he could get.


	58. Stablers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 57, Family portraits:  
> Toby, Elliot and Holly arrived in Vermont, and Toby gave Elliot a tour. Toby got his wish of teaching his kids to ski. Harry took right to it, so Elliot helped out by throwing snowballs at Holly. Toby took Harry to the park to clarify the nature of his relationship with Elliot, and it didn't go well. Harry wanted to go home. Jonah called to express his objections. Toby held on to his temper with Holly and Elliot's calm.

There were hugs and greetings as everyone poured out of the station, bundled up against the cold.

"Where's Toby?"

Elliot let go of Elizabeth and tweaked her nose, just to see her wrinkle it at him. "He's waiting at the house." It worked out fine that Elliot's car was exactly big enough to squash his four kids and Olivia, because he didn't want to be introducing everyone at a train station.

A hug and a kiss on the cheek for Olivia too: it was Thanksgiving. "How was the train trip?"

"I want my driving privileges back."

"I'm happy to wait until you can remember where you put your keys." It was only a tease: Olivia's memory was back to normal, but her concentration wasn't up to managing the road.

"At least I was in good company." She looked at Maureen and they shared a grin.

Elliot opened the trunk and let Kathleen take over fitting everyone's bags inside, waited until they were down to what they could all keep in their laps for the drive before he made his speech. "I know some of you are uncomfortable with this, but just... don't take it out on Toby, okay? Take it out on me. He's nervous about meeting you as it is."

Dickie headed for the back seat. "Maureen already gave us this speech."

"And Olivia already gave us one about being nice to you," added Elizabeth.

Elliot hoped his look told Olivia and Maureen how grateful he was. He climbed in the front, Lizzie squished between him and Olivia. "There's something else you should know. Harry only found out about me yesterday, so just... tread lightly with him, okay?"

Silence. Of course. Elliot wondered if the three behind him were staring as hard at him as Olivia and Elizabeth were. He checked everyone's seat belts in the mirror, and yeah. They were. He started up the car.

Toby had made Harry come down for meals, but they hadn't got a word out of him. Elliot had been expecting an air of 'I told you so' from Holly, but she was desperately trying to cheer Toby up, which only seemed to make him feel more guilty. Elliot hoped his kids were going to help, and not make things worse.

As soon as they turned into the driveway Dickie unclipped his belt and leaned forward. "This is Toby's spare house? Is he rich?"

"It's his mother's house." Elliot skipped the second question as he pulled into the garage.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby was wiping down the counter for the fourth time when he heard the garage door rise. He ditched the cloth and checked his murky reflection in the oven door and rubbed his churning stomach and then sniffed his hand to be sure it didn't smell like kitchen cleaner. No time to run and hide.

Holly came barrelling down the stairs. "They're here!" At least someone wasn't wracked with nerves. For a moment, anyway: as soon as a pile of strangers streamed into the house, she remembered she was shy, shrank two inches and tucked herself against the stairs.

"Toby!"

"Maureen." At least one person was on his side.

Her smile helped, though not as much as the unselfconscious way she kissed his cheek and hugged him. "Happy Thanksgiving. This is Kathleen, Dick and Lizzie."

Dickie nodded, Lizzie stared, and Kathleen reached out for a handshake. It was a start. They all looked different from the photos. Older, he supposed. And real. They were really doing this. Toby tried to look friendly and not like a recently-released felon.

"And you must be Holly. It's so nice to meet you!" Maureen bounded over to kiss Holly's cheek, and Holly smiled.

"Hey Toby."

"Olivia," Toby said gratefully. Two people on his side. As they exchanged greetings Toby took the bags out of her hands. "Your hair looks great." She hadn't been brave enough to shave it off, but she had a pretty short crew cut, and it really did look good. It brought out her eyes and her elegant neck.

"Thanks."

The kids looked almost as nervous as Toby felt. Maybe not almost as nervous, but partway. The twins were standing together. They hardly looked like siblings, except for the matching wary expressions. Just two years older than Holly, but the difference seemed bigger than that. Elizabeth wore glasses: she must have taken them off in all the photos, because Toby didn't remember seeing them before.

Kathleen looked up. "You must be Harry." He was sitting at the top of the stairs, too curious to hide in his room through this. Kathleen climbed up to sit on the step beside him, offered her hand. "I'm Kathleen." They shook, and she introduced everyone else below.

Elliot finally shuffled in behind them and pulled the door closed. "How about we show everyone where they're sleeping, then sort out some food?"

"Something smells good," said Maureen.

"We've got baguettes warming in the oven," said Toby.

 

Food was definitely the solution to the awkwardness. Elliot had promised as much while Toby was preparing it this morning. He'd said, "We're a big family, Toby. You fill a table with food, and everything else is forgotten." Elliot's kids were all talking over each other, teasing and stealing fries from each other's plates as Toby shuffled back and forth to the kitchen. Elliot was catching up with Olivia while keeping a close eye on the kids' chatter. Toby loved watching him be with his kids: the way he juggled three conversations at once, all the communication shortcuts, the way it only took a raised eyebrow to warn Dickie off taking thirds. This was how it looked when a man didn't take an eight year break from his children's lives.

Holly and Harry were intimidated by the chaos, wide-eyed and barely doing more than pick at their lunches, but he noticed Maureen and Kathleen both made an effort to include them. Kathleen and the twins were sullen with Elliot and they didn't have much to say to Toby, but as long as Holly and Harry were included, that was good enough. He was content to watch, and to hope Holly and Harry could get some sibling-inspiration, and to keep the food coming. He couldn't have eaten a thing anyway.

This was his family now. He'd never properly realised that until this moment, and it blew his mind a little. Kathleen, who Elliot was terrified was going to take after him and Kathy with a baby in her teens, or be an alcoholic like Toby. He couldn't see any sign of it here. Elizabeth, determined to beat boys at anything. Dickie - Toby noticed everyone but Elliot called him Dick - who cared a lot more about hanging out with some friend Elliot didn't like than doing his schoolwork. And Maureen, who was good evidence that the rest of them were going to turn out all right. He'd been thinking of them as pieces of Elliot, but these were four whole new people and Toby was going to be tangled up in their lives. He would probably end up seeing more of them than he did Harry.

Guilt stabbed at him. What sort of father was he? Not the sort that tucked his son in at night, or helped him with his homework. He hadn't even had a chance to teach Harry his own values. 

Harry caught him staring, and looked down at his plate. Kathleen was the first person he'd spoken to since they came back from the park yesterday. Things had been so much better since San Diego, but now Toby was back to being an inconvenience. An embarrassment, that Harry wished was dead.

Maureen tugged at Toby's elbow. "Toby, sit down. Eat. We're fine."

"I'll just take care of these." Toby collected a couple of empty bottles from the table and headed to the kitchen. Even if he won Harry over this weekend, Harry was getting on a flight back to San Diego on Sunday. Home to the grandparents he adored, who'd lost their last shred of respect for Toby. Toby had two days to convince Harry that Elliot wasn't the end of the world, all while persuading Kathleen and the twins that he wasn't the last nail in the coffin of their parents' marriage. And hoping Holly didn't throw one of her dramatic stunts.

"You okay?"

Toby looked back at Elliot, who was standing a careful step behind him. Toby didn't know if that was for Harry's benefit or because they were in view of Elliot's kids, but either way, Toby appreciated it. "I'm fine. I'm starting to think we don't have enough food for tomorrow."

"You have enough for the entire NYPD tomorrow. Or my family twice."

Elliot had been a miracle, the last twenty-four hours. Silent and near and not pressing any stupid advice. Not minding that Toby couldn't stand to be touched last night with all of Harry's and Jonah's recriminations ringing in his ears. All those months of splitting hairs about how he felt about Elliot: even if he hadn't figured it out in the car, he would have been sure by now. He smiled at him. "I'm fine."

There was a roar of laughter from the table, and enough sideways looks to be sure it was well-meant and at Elliot's expense. Toby checked and - his knees actually wobbled with relief - even Harry was smiling. Maybe Elliot was right, about his family's normalcy being the key.

"Come on. Sit down before the kids think you're the butler."

Toby snorted.

"Come on."

Toby followed him back to the table and sat between Holly and Olivia. He took a couple of ham and cheese rolls, was looking around for the salt and pepper when Kathleen flicked her hair behind her shoulder and folded her arms. "So Toby. How did you and Dad meet?"

Toby decided to forgo the salt and pepper. He realised he didn't know how much Elliot had told his kids. Probably not much. "I was a witness. I... I saw a guy go through a door." He glanced at Elliot, got a nod of approval. Just enough information to make it sound boring, and they wouldn't push for more.

"And then you two just fell mad-crazy in love?"

"Kathleen..." said Elliot.

"Why shouldn't I ask Toby? You won't tell me anything."

"It's fine," said Toby. Elliot lived with everything bottled up, couldn't break the habit. Toby could handle easy stuff like this. "We bumped into each other a couple of months later at the trial, ended up having lunch." No one was eating. The entire table was hanging on everything he said, Harry included. As much as Elliot hated it, they needed to get this out of the way. "That was back in January. We became friends. Eventually, it became this."

"Oh." Kathleen seemed put-out.

"I could make up something more exciting, if you like. Throw in a second act where I robbed a bank and he pursued me to Rome."

Elliot smiled. He was wearing a long-sleeved navy t-shirt and it made his eyes sparkle.

"No, thanks."

Toby looked around. "Anyone else?" A sea of nervous faces. "I'm not as repressed as your dad. You can ask me." Toby ignored Elliot's dark look. That had earned him small smiles from Dickie and Lizzie, and a big one from Olivia.

The twins both looked at Kathleen, the designated spokesperson. Maureen was shooting her warning looks, but Kathleen just lifted her chin. "Have you always been gay?"

"Kathleen!" Elliot and Maureen at once.

Toby waved them off. He liked Kathleen. He could play this game, though it was a lot more fun when he didn't have to remember his ten year-old son was at the table, drinking up every detail. And Holly - Toby checked, and realised she was sitting ramrod straight, fist curled tightly around her fork. He rubbed her back to let her know he was fine. "I was happily straight for most of my life. I loved Holly and Harry's mother. I never even imagined being with someone else. Then... a lot of things happened. Genevieve died, and a man was there for me. He and I were together for... four years, on and off." 

"So one day you just woke up gay."

Toby put a hand up to stop Elliot before he could open his mouth, and kept his own eyes on Kathleen. "I wish it had been that easy. It's incredibly difficult, to change who you think you are this late in life, but it's a lot harder to bury it. Love doesn't always seem to make sense, but you have to hold onto it when you find it." Toby sipped his drink, took a look around. "I have one brother, Angus. I like to read. I came third in the downhill skiing at regionals in college. I work as a paralegal for a small real estate firm in Williamsburg. What else would you like to know?"

Kathleen looked stuck.

Maureen was smirking. "What books do you like to read, Toby?"

Olivia passed over the salt and pepper. "Maybe that can wait until Toby's actually eaten something. These baguettes are delicious."

There was a chorus of approval.

Thank god for Olivia. Toby had his appetite back. "What about the rest of you? Anyone reading anything interesting?"

The kids talked about the terrible things their English teachers were making them read at school, which led to Lizzie talking about playing on her school's soccer team. After Harry told them about his last windsailing meet, Kathleen turned to Holly. "How about you? Do you like any sports?"

Holly stared at her like she'd suggested Holly ate puppies. "Sports?"

"Swimming? Basketball?"

"They make us play basketball in gym sometimes. I hate it."

"You hate basketball?"

"I hate gym."

They all started trading school gym horror stories, and Toby watched Holly sigh in relief as the attention filtered away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot could see snow flying in the yard, but he stopped by the kitchen first. "Do you two need help in here?"

Toby pulled his hand out of the turkey, dragging entrails. "We're okay."

Holly held up a cranberry. "Is this one okay, Dad?"

Toby barely glanced at it. "It's fine. Are you going to ask me about each and every one?"

She dropped it back in the strainer. "How about this one? It's squishy."

There were bowls and towels and dirty dishes scattered over the counter. There were steaming sweet potatoes sitting beside the stove and a couple of bags of fresh corn beside those and a strainer filled with green beans, and for some reason only known to Toby and Holly, artichokes. This wasn't going to be a traditional Stabler Thanksgiving.

"You want me to snap the green beans?" Elliot offered.

"Uh..." Toby looked around the FEMA-worthy kitchen.

"I'll take them outside." Elliot reached over Holly to get what looked like the last clean bowl out of the cupboard, swiped a dirty one for the ends, and found a paring knife in sink.

Holly called out, "Make them about an inch and a half long!" as he stopped to pull on his jacket. He stepped out onto the porch with Olivia, enjoying the press of chilled air into his lungs. "Is this a safe zone?"

"It has been so far, but probably not once they see you."

Lizzie threw a snowball at Dickie, ducking too late as Harry sent one flying at her. Maureen and Kathleen were tucked behind a tree, stocking up. All their faces were pink from running around in the snow and they were all laughing.

Olivia shivered, so Elliot put all his green bean bowls on the bench seat and pulled his woollen cap out of his pocket. He tugged it over her spiky head. "You don't have as much hair, remember?"

She pulled it into place. "I keep forgetting. Thank you."

He sat down with his beans, and started trimming the ends. It was a relief seeing her like this. She finally looked like his partner, instead of a patient.

Olivia glanced in the window, and sat beside him. "Is Toby going to spend the whole weekend hiding in the kitchen?"

"He and Holly are pretty excited by all this cooking."

She tipped her head towards the snowball fight. "I thought the point of this weekend was for him and your kids to get to know each other."

That was supposed to be the point. After Toby's nagging to meet them, he could have found a few minutes here and there to actually meet them. Other than Kathleen's interrogation, of course. "At least they're getting to know Harry."

She smiled as Maureen and Harry yelled threats at the twins. "Is that because Harry likes your lot, or because he's avoiding you and Toby?"

"You don't make things easy, Liv." He took another handful of beans. This wasn't the happy, magical coming-together Toby had hoped for, but it was peaceful. There was a lot to be said for peaceful. "He could have avoided me and Toby by hiding in his room." He shrugged. This was more than Elliot had hoped for this time yesterday. "If hanging out with my kids is what makes him want to move to New York, I'll take it."

"Toby wants him to move to New York?"

Elliot shut his mouth. Yes, but not exactly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You want him to move to New York."

"He should be with his father."

"Isn't that Toby's decision?"

Olivia should shut up. Elliot watched Harry racing around with his own kids, the fatal humiliation of his father's lifestyle temporarily forgotten. "Harry's grandparents aren't exactly the torch-bearers for tolerance."

She nodded, understanding. "That's going to complicate things."

"They already blame Toby for everything. If they use this as an excuse to poison Harry against him, I'm worried Toby might lose him." Elliot didn't want to think about what that would do to Toby. He was afraid Toby wouldn't fight it.

Lizzie squealed that she'd dropped her glasses in the snow, and everyone stopped to help dig them out. Two hundred dollar glasses. Elliot held his breath until Maureen held them up, intact, and then raced off with Lizzie chasing after her.

"Yours seem to be doing okay with this," said Olivia.

"Toby's going to win Kathleen over." He'd been perfect at lunch. "The twins are still on the fence."

"At least you don't have to worry about them being whisked off to their grandparents, never to talk to you again."

"No." She was right. It might take a while to smooth things over with his kids, but they'd get there. To tolerance, at least. Elliot took the ends off a few more beans, snapped them in thirds and threw them in the bowl. "How are you feeling?" They hadn't had a moment alone to ask until now.

"I'm fine."

"Headaches?"

"Not much lately. This fresh air is doing wonders." She filled her lungs, and let it out again. "Thanks for having me up here."

"We're glad you could come." She did look better. There was colour in her cheeks, fresh light in her eyes.

"It's a hell of a lot better than waiting at home. I didn't tell you, I saw Doctor Mazloum on Tuesday."

"And?" Mazloum was the one who could clear Olivia to go back to work.

"More time. More rest. Don't try to rush it. Remember that healing takes time. I wanted to stab her with a pen." By her tone, Elliot guessed it had been a close thing. "My next evaluation's in two months."

Hell. Two months before they'd even consider her for desk duty. "Would you do it? Stay on a desk long term?"

She tipped her head back against the house. "I don't know. I've started to think about options."

"Options?"

"If I can't be a cop. Maybe I'd try for Victims' Services."

The seat seemed to shift under Elliot. They'd both known since the accident that her career was in question, but it was the first time she'd ever spoken out loud about an alternative. Olivia would be great at Victim's Services, but he couldn't say it. He wanted her to be a cop.

"I've also been thinking..." She was staring out at the kids, chewing on her lip. 

Elliot braced himself. "Yeah?"

"Maybe this is a good time to take a break."

"I thought that's what you were doing?"

"I mean a real break." A tiny smile curved her lips, and she gestured to Elliot's pile of romping teens just as Lizzie tackled Dickie to the ground, the pair of them laughing like nuts. "I want that."

All his selfish fears evaporated. "You're going to have kids?"

She lifted her shoulders, feigning casual. "Doctor Mazloum said there shouldn't be any problems with my health."

"That's fantastic, Liv! You'd be an amazing mom."

She nodded, a hell of a lot more cautious than Elliot. "If I keep waiting for what you had with Kathy, I'm never going to have it."

"There's never a right time. You just have to do it." Elliot wanted to see it, his kids playing with Olivia's. And Toby's. He could imagine a couple of tough-minded little Bensons out there, wrestling down Dickie and Elizabeth. Olivia probably wanted quiet support, but he was grinning like an idiot.

She gave him a dry look, and he scooped up the last few beans, lopped the ends off and dropped them in the bowl.

"How about you, Elliot? How are you doing? With work?"

"Better." He brushed off his hands and stood up, crossed the porch and leaned his elbows on the railing.

Olivia followed, to lean beside him. "Have you talked to Toby?"

"Yeah. I did."

He'd surprised her. "And?"

He kicked a foot against the rail. "And I'm not going to make the same mistakes I made with Kathy." He watched the kids running around, laughing. All this second-guessing about his career would be a bigger surprise to them than it had been to Toby.

"Do you think you'll stay in SVU?"

Maybe. He knew for sure he couldn't make a decision until he knew where Olivia was headed. Maybe he'd go back even if she didn't, but he couldn't settle how he felt until he knew whether she was going to be his partner. He couldn't lay that extra pressure at her door, so he just said, "I haven't decided."

She watched him, knowing there was more going on than he'd tell her. "You've put in a lot of years; you have every right to find something easier."

Cragen had said much the same. "I think I can handle it better with Toby."

Olivia straightened up. "If that's true, then whatever happens to me, I think you should try to stay. Where else are you going to go? Fraud? Computer Crimes? You'd die of boredom in a week."

"Homicide?"

She screwed up her nose, unimpressed. "You could. But that's not... You want my two cents? You do better with victims who can fight with you. You're good with victims because you get them back on their feet. You help them fight back. You'd be a damned good cop in homicide, but nobody there needs you."

Before Elliot could gather any kind of response Maureen bounced up onto the porch, collected a handful of beans and flopped against the railing, panting for breath. "I'm getting too old for that."

Elliot snorted. "Yeah, you're ancient."

"That makes you ancient-plus-seventeen."

"Thanks for the update."

She threw a bean in her mouth with a crunch and lifted her hair to cool her neck. "Where's Toby?"

"Cooking. How was Thanksgiving at your aunt's?"

A shrug. "It was good. The usual."

"Did Uncle Greg get drunk?" asked Olivia.

Maureen lifted her eyebrows in the 'What do you think?' expression she'd learned from Kathy. Of course he did. Kathy's brother-in-law getting drunk and yelling at the referees was as traditional as turkey.

"How was it here?"

"I missed all of you." He pulled her close and kissed her sweaty forehead.

"Dad." She shot him a look. "What did you do yesterday?"

"Toby taught the kids to ski. Harry's good, took right to it." It probably used the same kind of skills as windsailing. Elliot had never done either, but that was Toby's theory.

"And Holly?"

"She was fine, but she'd rather build things." It's a pity she wasn't out here now; the others had finally calmed down, and it looked like Kathleen and the twins were teaching Harry how to make a snowman. Maybe Toby wasn't the only one playing safe by cooking.

Maureen peeked in the window. "Are those artichokes?"

"Yeah."

Olivia looked over her shoulder. "I love artichokes."

Maureen looked back at Elliot. "For Thanksgiving?"

"Holly's throwing in a few dishes of her own."

"Oookay."

Elliot tipped his head towards the snowman construction. "How are they feeling about all this?"

She shrugged. "Ask them." Smart ass. "How are you feeling?"

"Nobody's killed anyone or walked out, so I guess we're okay." He leaned back against the rail so he could enjoy the view into the kitchen, where Toby and Holly were squabbling over a recipe. "It's going to take them a while to be comfortable with this."

She folded her arms, eyes turning wicked. "How long is going to take you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't been within three feet of him since we got here."

Elliot glanced at Olivia, wondering if she got what this was about, but she had that same little smile she usually had when Elliot's kids were teasing him. He hoped he could enjoy her on the other end of it one day. "Where should I be?"

"With him? A touch here, a hug there..."

He snorted. "Forgive me for not being into the PDA like a sixteen year-old."

Maureen gave him a look that almost screamed 'moron', glanced at Olivia to share the joke. "Dad, you're worse than a sixteen year-old. You couldn't keep your hands off Mom. It was embarrassing."

True. Except for the embarrassing part. "That was different." In the kitchen, Toby was filling the dishwasher. Holly was shucking corn and throwing the leaves at him and giggling. Elliot grinned. Toby had corn silk in his hair and all over his shirt.

"Because Toby's a guy? Dad, you can't be gay and a homophobe. That's stupid."

Elliot squashed his sigh. He conceded - inside his own head, at least - she was partly right. He was uncomfortable with his kids seeing him that way. 'Gay', supplied some rude part of his brain. But it was also different because they grew up seeing him kiss Kathy. It was right for them to see how he loved their mother. Toby was a stranger to them, and Elliot didn't want their first impression to be their father pawing him.

And he was a man.

"You're not really comfortable with him until you can kiss him in front of people like it doesn't matter."

Olivia snorted. "Your father didn't-"

"Liv." Elliot shot her a glare, and she just gave him an cheeky grin. Maureen didn't need to hear it.

It was so straightforward for Maureen. She was living her college years where it was all about discovering yourself, living some kind of idealised post-modern whatever the hell they were calling it these days. Elliot didn't need to prove he was comfortable half as much as he cared about keeping the peace with his own kids, and protecting Toby's relationship with Harry, and he cared even less about teaching a civics lesson to the guys at work. He just wanted to put food on the table and keep his family close, and he knew Toby felt the same. That was why Toby didn't care about Elliot coming out at work.

So Olivia didn't need to tell Maureen about their very first kiss, out on the street in front of all the neighbourhood with Olivia gaping like a fish, and Elliot didn't need to tell her Holly had seen plenty. "I'm comfortable with him, Maureen. I'm comfortable enough to let everyone else get comfortable with him, too."


	59. Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Elayna, from whom I sourced all my Thanksgiving cooking information. She was kind enough to give an incredibly detailed portrait of your weird Thanksgiving traditions, which, as you can tell, Holly has altered.
> 
> Previously, in chapter 58, Stablers:  
> Elliot picked his kids and Olivia up from the train station, and made what turned out to be a superfluous speech about being nice.  
> The Stablers arrived. Everyone was awkward and shy, but Maureen and Kathleen were friendly to Holly and Harry, and that was enough for Toby, who was freshly realising this was his family now. And fretting about Harry, who still wasn't speaking to him. Kathleen stepped up to interrogate Toby, who was much more at ease with the probing questions than Elliot.  
> Elliot snapped green beans while watching the kids play in the snow and listening to Olivia talk out her thoughts on the future. He voted for the plan to have kids. Maureen joined them, and poked fun at Elliot for being too repressed to PDA on Toby, but this time, Elliot wasn't bothered.

Toby sat on the closed toilet, watching Elliot brush his teeth. It was warm upstairs, and Elliot had already stripped to his shorts for bed, all that smooth skin out for Toby's view, all the defined muscles of his shoulders and back down to the trim waist, the perfect shape of his ass. It was the first moment they'd had alone since Elliot brought everyone back from the train station, and Toby was happy to stare.

Elliot's kids had dug the board games out of the cupboard, and that had made the evening. Toby didn't know who'd been thoughtful enough to team him up with Harry and Maureen while he was off pouring drinks, but he was grateful. Elliot had the twins, and Olivia had been with Holly and Kathleen. Toby couldn't remember the last time he'd had that much fun, and even Harry hadn't been able to resist joining in, too caught up in the chase for points to worry about cold-shouldering his father.

Elliot leaned over the sink to spit and rinse, and then looked back at Toby. "Are you working up to saying something, or are you just watching my ass?"

"It's a great ass." 

Elliot snorted, and threw his toothbrush back in his toiletries bag.

"Your kids are wonderful."

Elliot pretended he didn't glow a little at that, slouching back against the sink. "You handled Kathleen well."

"I'm a lawyer, remember?"

"I try to forget that."

"She'd be good in law."

"Over my dead body." He folded his arms. "I knew the two of you would get along."

"No, you didn't."

Elliot grinned. "I hadn't realised how alike you are. No filter."

"She knows it's easier when you lay it all out on the table." Toby and Kathleen knew where they stood, and it had been easy talking ever since.

Elliot rolled his eyes. It was cute.

"Dick and Lizzie are going to be harder." They answered direct questions politely enough, but didn't give more. Toby still didn't know whether it was shyness or resentment. His paltry attempts at conversation had awakened cloudy memories of trying to befriend Dino Ortolani on his first day in prison. Thank god for games night, when the twins' crazed competitive streaks outweighed their other issues.

"I think it helped that Maureen and Olivia both read everyone the riot act on the way here. And Harry's softening."

"Thanks to your kids. He doesn't like us yet, but he likes them." Toby shifted, and the lid creaked under him. "I overheard him talking to Dick." It felt strange calling him Dick, when Elliot had always called him Dickie, but Toby was going to get used to it.

"Do I want to ask?"

Toby wasn't going to give a word-for-word recap of the harsher comments. "Mostly they agreed this was all pretty lame." Dick blamed Elliot for walking out on Kathy. Harry had been raised to believe Gen was a saint, though he didn't mention the rude awakening that Holly gave him on his birthday. Dick didn't think Elliot knew how to be happy. He thought Elliot's bad temper would screw this relationship up as well, and he was worried how his mom was taking it. Harry didn't care if Toby was happy or not, but was pretty clear on one point. "Harry said men shouldn't be boyfriends."

"Toby..."

"Dick told him men can have boyfriends if they want. Did you know his best friend is gay?"

Elliot's eyes went wide. "Shane's gay?" Obviously not.

Toby shrugged. He hadn't caught a name. "And when Harry started with 'My Pop says-' Dick shut him down fast. He said, 'Old people all think it's the Depression and there's a war on and that things were better when kids were dying of smallpox instead of playing video games. Don't listen to anything old people say.'"

Elliot huffed. "Guess he's had another fight with Kathy's parents."

"He said there was nothing wrong with gay people. Unless it was you, having a mid-life crisis. He thinks you should buy a sports car and get over it." He couldn't help the smirk in his tone.

"I think we're a way past 'overheard' and well into 'eavesdropped'."

"Would you have walked away?"

Elliot grinned. "Hell no."

Toby stood and slipped his arms around Elliot's waist. "I think it's going to be okay."

"That'd be nice."

They kissed, easy and slow. Elliot tasted of mint. "But if you want a sports car..."

"What guy doesn't want a sports car?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot could just make out the banging of pots and the kids' voices from downstairs: Maureen and Kathleen's short tones might have been an argument, but Lizzie's laughter told him everything was fine. As he listened Dickie stumbled past their door - he'd probably collapse on the couch down there and fall back to sleep.

It could have been a hundred other lazy mornings, but the body pressed against his back was hard and masculine, and there were fresh voices jumbled in below. Harry had plenty to say, and Holly piped up once. He thought he'd heard Olivia a while back.

Elliot twisted his head to see the clock. Their families were safe and happy, Toby was wrapped around him, and there was no rush to get anywhere, no job to drag him away.

Elliot reached back and trailed his fingers up Toby's thigh. Just one thing short of a perfect morning. A little firmer, a handful of ass got a sleepy 'Mmph,' and so Elliot's hand drifted forward and over the strong thigh, dipping between them to brush his fingers over Toby's soft cock and balls. They'd been distracted last night, slept naked. No wonder Elliot woke up horny.

He lasted all of thirty seconds before he had to watch, so he rolled over carefully and cupped Toby's hairy balls, let them sit in his hand and listened to Toby's breathing pick up. 

Kathy used to get him hard with the way she wandered around in old cotton underwear, unselfconscious of how sexy she was. It was knowing the shape of her, the sensitive places, better than she did, that still turned him on after all those years. With Toby... Elliot was still figuring it out. It was the incredible lack of inhibition, the way he could leave all his history behind and revel in every touch. It was the way Toby could tease him past all his hesitation, make him see sex in ways he never had. It wasn't like Elliot had ever had any kind of favourable opinion of balls before, but now he loved the shape and weight of Toby's

He let them go and followed the trail of hair to Toby's navel, dipped a finger in and then laid his palm flat and headed north. Elliot's nipples didn't do much, but he'd figured out Toby's were incredibly sensitive. He had that much in common with Kathy. He just rolled them under his thumbs and Toby shifted, and his cock started to fill.

"C'mon, Toby. Morning," he murmured.

"El..."

"Yeah." There was still a tiny frisson of relief every time Toby called him by name when he was like this. He caught Toby's nipples between his fingers. "We've got a herd of kids downstairs, and if I don't hurry up and make you come so you can get down there and get the turkey in the oven, they're gonna wonder where we are."

"So do it." Half asleep, half awake, eyes still closed as a smile spread across his face.

Elliot was sure his kids wouldn't come barging in when Toby was in here, but Holly might. Kathleen would probably think it was funny to bang on the door. He reached down and circled Toby's cock in a loose grip. "I've been thinking."

"Mmmmm?" Toby rolled onto his back and let his legs sprawl wide, kicking the sheets away so Elliot could see everything, pushing his hips up into Elliot's slow, loose strokes.

"We've got a couple of days to ourselves up here after the kids go back to school."

"Yesssss..."

Elliot leaned close, dropped his voice. "I think maybe I could try it."

"What?"

Elliot kissed the base of his neck between his collarbones, the tip of his Adam's apple, the end of his unshaven chin. "Being inside you."

Toby's eyes popped open. "Yeah?"

He'd said it now, and Toby would look forward to it all weekend, and Elliot couldn't chicken out.

"You'll fuck me?"

Elliot tightened his grip, lengthened his strokes. "You want that?" The idea still unsettled him but he wanted to do something special. Toby wanted his trust? Elliot was going to trust him with this. He could at least try it once.

"Fuck, yes, El." Toby's hand curled around the back of Elliot's neck, pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. "Gonna be so close to you."

Toby's hips were moving fast and Elliot's cock was fit to burst. "Love you, Toby." He could say it now, and Toby looked glad instead of scared.

"Love you. Want to be full of you. Want you so deep inside me. Want to be on my back so I can watch your face as I squeeze down on all that beautiful fat cock."

Elliot barely caught his groan and Toby twitched, eyes closing and body pressing up, pressing up into Elliot's fist and catching his breath just a moment before come shot over his stomach. Toby lay gasping as Elliot reached for a tissue, but Elliot only managed one swipe before Toby had flipped him over and sucked his cock into that furnace of a mouth. Elliot's fingers scrabbled against the mattress; he wouldn't take long with-

Elliot jerked up at the banging on the door.

Toby didn't flinch, never even broke the suction, and Elliot flailed, trying and failing to push Toby off, searching for something to cover themselves in case someone barged in.

"Are you two going to get up today?" Olivia called.

"We're just getting dressed," Toby called back and dove all the way down Elliot's cock, and Elliot jammed his teeth together.

"Elliot too?"

Her tone made all the blood not in Elliot's cock rush to his face, but Toby pulled himself off and retorted, "Brushing his teeth," and lifted a finger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet. And then with a wicked look he licked it and pushed it against Elliot's ass.

Elliot choked on his moan, thrusting up for more of that eager mouth as the teasing finger followed, that light touch that made Elliot's nerves stand up.

He hoped it wasn't laughter he heard from the other side of the door, but he couldn't do anything about it, trapped in Toby's spell.

It went quiet at least; Olivia was gone. He hoped. Elliot scrunched his face as Toby twisted his finger just barely inside him.

"Don't know how you managed all those years with four kids."

Elliot didn't want to talk. "Kathy was never trying to embarrass me."

"Didn't she ever notice how hot you are when you squirm? Every time you cringed yesterday, I wanted to drag you upstairs and shove my hands in your pants."

"Shut up and suck me."

A warm breath of laughter over his cock and Toby did as he was told.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot declared Uno and gloated at the barrage of insults from Maureen and Dickie. They were playing on the floor in front of the fire, since the table was already set for the meal. The smell of roasting turkey filled the house, and Elliot's mouth had been watering for hours. It finally felt like Thanksgiving.

A strange, alien Thanksgiving, in which Elliot had won Uno despite having his attention stuck on the man bustling around the kitchen, hair curling damply against his neck with sweat and steam. Elliot was going to penetrate him. It had been a spur of the moment promise, all the long-simmering fear suddenly giving way. Like that first kiss, he supposed. Except that first kiss had happened: Elliot felt Toby's mouth and he'd known it was right. This was just... looming.

Elliot was a little afraid and a little hard.

Toby and Holly jumped into a panic, searching through the kitchen for all of thirty seconds before Holly popped up with a wicked-looking carving knife. Just as quickly they were calm again, Holly trotting off to scoop up a bowl of steaming vegetables as Toby began to slice the turkey. Elliot could have watched him all day.

"Rematch!" demanded Dickie.

Olivia looked back over her shoulder to the kitchen. "Looks like our Thanksgiving dinner is ready. Why don't we help carry stuff to the table; Elliot can round up the others."

Elliot did has he was told, and climbed to his feet. Thanksgiving for twenty years had been at his house, or with Kathy's parents or sister, with familiar crockery and familiar traditions and familiar arguments. It was all different now, but it wasn't as unsettling as it could have been.

He found Elizabeth and Kathleen in the basement chatting, turning suddenly quiet and guilty as soon as Elliot came through the door. They didn't know where Harry was, so he just told them food was ready and left them to it. He climbed the stairs up to the bedrooms, almost called out when he heard Harry snap, "It's fine, Nan!"

Elliot slowed and listened.

"I don't want to."

The door was ajar, and he could hear everything.

"He isn't. It's not so bad."

A pause.

"No, they're cool. We had a snowball fight yesterday, and Dickie taught me how to play poker."

Elliot covered his eyes, waiting.

"We weren't gambling! No- Nan- Not with money! We were just playing. They're all right. Elliot's all right."

Elliot's eyebrows rose. He hadn't realised-

"But I don't want to come home." His voice rose, arguing over her. "You can't make me!"

Elliot let his hands curl. He wanted to storm in and yank the phone out of his hand, start making threats about custodial interference. It wasn't self-control that held him back, so much as wanting to hear Harry's response.

"And you lied about Mom," Harry snapped. "Yes, you did!"

Elliot leaned closer, wondering what that was about, and then realised he was half-crouched by the door, and eavesdropping probably wasn't the best way to earn Harry's trust. He forced himself forward and knocked, waited a moment and pushed the door open. 

As soon as Harry saw him, he said, "I have to go. Lunch is ready." He frowned, impatient. "Dad made it. And Holly." Elliot started to leave, but Harry stood up, ready to follow. "I have to go. No- Nan!" He glared at the floor. "Okay. Bye." He dropped his phone on the bed.

"Everything okay?"

Harry shrugged as he passed Elliot in the doorway.

Elliot felt a lot more confident, now he'd heard himself defended. "I'm sorry you're caught in the middle of all this. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Harry looked back, just for a moment, and then shook his head. It was enough for Elliot to know he'd gained some ground. He'd give thanks for that.

 

They came downstairs to a table crammed with food, Kathleen filling a jug in the kitchen, everyone else in their seats but Toby and Holly, who were standing back, his hand on her shoulder, both looking a little awed by all they'd done.

"Toby, is this how you remember it?"

Toby glowed. "It's perfect."

Toby was perfect, and being this happy made him sexy as hell. Elliot nudged Harry to sit beside him, and took his own seat between Elizabeth and Olivia. "Chipped gravy boat?"

"Of course."

There were a few things not from Toby's childhood too, Elliot guessed. The couscous with apple and cranberries. The guests he'd known for twenty-four hours. The boyfriend.

As soon everyone was settled, Lizzie spoke up. "Do you want to say grace, Dad?"

"You can do it, honey." Elliot hesitated. This wasn't his Thanksgiving dinner, and he didn't know what Toby's traditions were. "Sorry, Toby, this isn't my-"

"Yes. It is." Toby shot him a significant look.

It was. Elliot wasn't a guest here: this was his Thanksgiving. Everyone staring at him right now was family. Elliot stared right back, and felt his world resettle.

"Go on, Liz," said Toby.

Lizzie said grace, and added, "I'm grateful that Olivia's head is better."

Olivia smiled, obviously touched. "Thank you. I'm grateful to be back on my feet."

They went around the table, each of Elliot's kids with something to be grateful for. Elliot added, "I'm glad everyone in my family is healthy and safe."

Holly jumped in without hesitation: "I'm grateful to have my Dad." Elliot's throat closed.

Harry looked down at the table. "I'm grateful for all my friends at home."

Toby was last. "Only one thing?"

In that moment, Elliot felt like he could read Toby's mind. Eight Thanksgivings in prison, one while he was still finding his feet on the outside, and now he was here: the table laden with food he and his daughter had cooked together. His son by his side. Freedom and a lover and the first family gathering that didn't feel like a parole review since he got out.

"Only one thing," said Kathleen.

"I'm grateful to have all of you here, sharing Thanksgiving with me. It's been a long time since a holiday felt like this."

Elliot wanted to pull him close, feel all that happiness in his arms. Their eyes met, and they smiled.

"Somebody pass the potatoes? No, the sweet potatoes."

"Can I have a leg?"

"Is that couscous?"

"Do you want the stuffing? Dad? Dad!"

Elliot blinked, and realised Liz was shoving a bowl at him. "Sorry. Thanks." The kids were way ahead of him filling their plates, and before he'd caught up, they were already praising Toby and Holly for the food. Holly was beaming, and Elliot could have hugged them all for being so gracious.

"What's this?"

"Warm artichoke salad."

"Okay." Liz passed it on, untouched, and reached for the corn instead. Elliot just took enough to be polite and gave it to Olivia, glad when she piled it on her plate. Elliot was here for the turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes.

Maureen asked about the not-particularly-Thanksgiving dishes, which finally got Holly rambling about herbs and underrated vegetables as the twins listened in. Harry was very seriously explaining the rules of poker to Toby, and getting them at least mostly right. Olivia was devouring her dinner like she was on a one-meal-mission to regain all the weight she'd lost. Between her and Dickie, they might not have so many leftovers after all. Elliot poured a generous serve of gravy over his meal, and got eating.

 

The conversation bubbled all through dinner and into the pumpkin pie, which Toby and Holly had dressed up with a meringue topping that sucked up all the cinnamon and nutmeg into a fluffy cloud of sweet-spiciness. It was incredible.

"You, my friend," said Maureen, "are responsible for delaying my rendezvous with star command!" 

"You! Are! A! Toyyyyy!" chorused the rest of the table, Holly and Harry included, and they all dissolved into giggles. At some point the kids had started quoting movies at each other.

Kathleen and Olivia were rubbing their swollen bellies but still eyeing the last piece of pie as Dickie claimed it.

"Dick!" Kathleen chided. "That's three slices!"

"So what? It's really good." He dropped it on his plate with a mutinous look and buried it under a pile of cream. "Yippee-ki-yay-"

"Dickie." Elliot was sure Dickie wouldn't dare finish that one at the dinner table, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Kathleen made a disgusted sound. "Have some manners, would you?"

"Enough, both of you." Elliot groused. This dinner had been damned near perfect; he wasn't going to let it be ruined by Kathleen and Dickie getting in one of their spats.

"I'm saving everyone else from eating too much." Dickie shovelled a huge forkful in his mouth with a triumphant look at Kathleen, and Elliot winced and rubbed his own belly. "I'm being altruistic," Dickie added, through a mouth full of pie.

Lizzie pointed a finger at him. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Elliot looked over the table. Everyone was done eating but Dickie, and they should probably think about clearing it. And doing something about the disaster in the kitchen. He ought to take charge, since Toby had led the cooking, but getting up seemed like the worst idea in the world.

"Dad, can we go to Blockbuster?"

Elliot stared at Lizzie. "Are you serious?"

"Harry's never seen The Princess Bride!"

"Liz, it's Thanksgiving!"

"No it isn't! It's Saturday. We drove past Blockbuster on the way here yesterday."

"I'm not driving to Blockbuster."

Toby and Olivia were grinning at his spluttering. Elliot was stuffed full and sleepy, he'd had three beers, and it was Thanksgiving. He wasn't driving anywhere.

"Maureen could," offered Dickie.

"Kathleen could," retorted Maureen.

Kathleen screwed up her nose. "I'm not driving anywhere."

Elliot sighed. "Maureen's had a beer and Kath-"

"And Kathleen doesn't care if she drives drunk," Dickie said.

"Dickie!"

Kathleen stared daggers at her brother. "Shut up!"

"We all know about it."

"Shut up, Dick!"

Toby looked sharply at Kathleen. "You were caught on a DUI?"

She sent a panicked glance at Elliot, but Elliot felt Toby's gaze too, coming to all the right conclusions. Elliot had never told him anything about it.

"It's none of your business," snapped Kathleen, when Elliot didn't speak up to defend her. "It's no big deal."

Elliot sucked in a breath. All that food sitting in his stomach started a slow roll. He braced himself for a speech, but Toby simply said, "Me too." His voice was light, like they were sharing a joke.

He had her attention. And Elliot's. The entire table had gone eerily quiet, sensing that it wasn't a joke at all.

Elliot's warning look was wasted. Please don't do this. Not today, Toby.

Toby's voice stayed mild. "What happened to you?"

She crossed her arms, her cheeks burning. Finally she said, "Nothing."

It was true. The way she'd looked at him in the police station, what she'd said - he hadn't had the heart to ground her afterwards. He'd always hoped the shock of a few hours in a cell would do the job.

Toby's eyes drifted to Elliot, and back to her. The corner of his mouth lifted. "Me too. I didn't have my father on the force, but I got myself a good lawyer, got it vacated. I was rich; it was pocket change." He shrugged, like it really was nothing, and the kids all stared at him, enthralled. "That was the first time. The second time was different."

Elliot's heartbeat slowed. He could hear every pulse. Couldn't do a thing to stop what was coming. It was all he could do to keep his turkey dinner from coming up.

"What happened the second time?" Maureen asked, but Toby kept his eyes on Kathleen, waiting for her.

Kathleen looked at her sister, pouted when she realised there was only one way to make Toby talk. "What happened?"

"I was charged with manslaughter."

Elliot had time to see that sink in on Kathleen, the seriousness of the charge and then the slow realisation that Toby killed someone. The colour left her cheeks. "You..."

"I killed a little girl. She was nine years old. I had to sit in court with her grieving parents. I went to prison. I destroyed my family." He leaned forward. "Your father shouldn't have got you off. Don't ever make him regret it."

No one spoke. Elliot couldn't look away from Kathleen, red eyes and ducked chin.

Long, silent minutes passed before Kathleen finally looked up through damp lashes. "What was her name? The little girl?"

Elliot had never thought to ask.

Toby swallowed. "Kathy."

Everyone looked at Elliot but Toby. He hadn't realised he'd made a sound. How had he never known that?

Toby glanced up, like he'd just realised everyone else was here. His gaze never made it to Elliot. "I'm sorry. I didn't... Fuck. I'm sorry." He was on his feet and halfway up the stairs before Elliot could take a breath.


	60. Not a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 59, Thanks:  
> Toby and Elliot enjoyed a private moment to talk. An evening of board games had been a great way to distract everyone from their various points of grump. Toby had overheard Harry and Dick talking: it wasn't all good, but Dick did set Harry straight on the opinions of old homophobes.  
> While the rest of the families were downstairs, Elliot gave Toby a pleasant wake up, and an offer to give the whole ass sex thing a bit of a whirl after they packed the kids off home.  
> While the others laid the table, Elliot went upstairs and eavesdropped on Harry, who was expressing his own opinions about Elliot and his family to his grandmother on the phone.  
> Everyone finally sat down to Thanksgiving dinner, and it was everything a Hallmark movie could ask for. At least until Kathleen's DUI came up, and Toby - being Toby - decided it was sharing time.

Toby rushed up the stairs. He had to get out of there. He couldn't believe he'd let all that spill out. Elliot was going to kill him. He made it to the bedroom, turned back to close the door and it was the first he realised Elliot was with him. He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell, Toby?" The door closed, not the slam Toby was expecting.

"I shouldn't have, I had no right to just, I don't know why I..." He faced Elliot. "Why didn't you tell me about Kathleen?"

"You think that's the issue right now? Hell, Toby! You said you wouldn't lie if it came up. You didn't say you'd blurt it out over Thanksgiving dinner! We were finally pulling everyone together and you-"

"You made her charge go away."

"-you had to..." Elliot choked off his rant and puffed himself up. "Yeah, I did."

"Like I made mine go away."

"Yeah! I protected my kid! You'd do the same thing if it was Holly." 

"And you didn't tell me."

The staring competition lasted thirty seconds, a minute. Toby didn't know if he would do the same for Holly. But how the hell could Elliot not have told him?

Elliot put his head down, took a breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Kathleen's DUI. It was last year, before I even knew you."

Toby didn't know why it got to him so much. Because Elliot was setting Kathleen up for Toby's own mistakes? Because Elliot knew all Toby's skeletons and didn't trust Toby enough to talk about his own? Or because Toby was taken by surprise and just announced to Elliot's family that he'd killed someone? "Oh god, your kids know I was in prison."

"Yeah, you let that cat out of the bag."

They were still reeling that Toby was a man, they were just starting to talk to him, and now this was out there. "They're going to hate me. Kathleen must hate me. You must... I'm sorry."

Elliot softened his voice, but he was still holding himself like he wanted to hit something, and he kept his distance. "They were going to find out at some point, Toby. I guess it's today. Maybe this is better than putting it off until it becomes some kind of looming secret." Elliot was trying to persuade himself, but Toby latched on. "Now it's out we can just... deal with it."

"That's not how I wanted them to find out."

Elliot gave him a baleful look. "That's good, Toby. Because if blurting it out over Thanksgiving dinner was a plan, I'd be pretty pissed."

Toby turned to him, eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. "You think this is funny?"

"No." But the corner of his mouth lifted. "It's a little funny."

Toby had tipped Elliot over the edge. "Your kids just found out you're dating a junkie ex-con, and you're up here laughing about it?"

Elliot's lip curled higher. "Please tell me you're not planning to tell them about the drugs today?"

"Of course I'm not. That's more of a Christmas announcement."

Elliot sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands, shaking with laughter.

"I can't believe you're laughing."

Elliot reached to catch Toby's hand and lay back, pulling Toby over him. He tried to kiss him but he couldn't lose the grin and Toby was too indignant to cooperate. He'd just fucked up everything, and Elliot wanted to make out.

Toby sat up, turning serious. "I don't know why I did that."

Elliot watched him from the bed, eyes turning gentle. "Because you wanted to protect my daughter from what you went through."

Toby swallowed.

"Thank you for saying it. She needed to hear it."

"I don't think Kathleen's going to see it that way."

Elliot pushed himself to sit upright beside him. "Probably not, but it's not going to get better hiding up here."

"I'm sorry, Elliot."

"It's done."

He wasn't angry. Or at least, not angry enough to make a big deal out of this. "Are you angry?"

"Come on." He stood. "I don't want to imagine the conversation going on down there right now."

Toby's stomach tangled up all over again. He'd left Holly and Harry down there to deal with four shocked Stablers. He forced himself to his feet. "You're angry."

Elliot rolled that around, considering. "Yeah. I'm pissed at you. But I think I'm relieved as well, so..." He shrugged. "But if we leave Liv down there to answer all their questions, she's going to kill both of us."

Toby pulled Elliot close and kissed him hard. He was overwhelmed with how much he loved Elliot right now, but he was also shitting-his-pants terrified. "Thank you."

"Come on. Let's face this."

Toby let himself be pushed out into the hall. No yelling, no sound at all from below. "Maybe they all left."

"We can hope."

Toby was grateful for the hand on his back as they headed for the stairs, grateful again when Elliot gave him space before they came into view. Elliot's kids didn't need to see him propping up an ex-con.

They came down to silence. All of Elliot's kids were staring at Holly and Harry and trying not to. Harry was staring at his lap, holding back tears. Toby had screwed him over, yet again. Holly looked like she was going to stab her fork in the eye of the first person to ask a question.

Olivia had her blank detective face on, but she didn't hide her relief when she saw them. Toby noticed the way she focused on Elliot, giving him a tiny smile and nod. She had Elliot's back, even when Toby let him down.

Elliot waited for Toby to round the table before taking his seat. "Did we miss anything interesting?"

"We thought we'd wait until you got back," said Olivia.

Toby sat heavily, met each of their eyes in turn. This was definitely his mess to clean up. "What do you want to know?"

Maureen jumped right in. "What were you convicted for?" Straight to the heart of it.

"DUI and vehicular manslaughter." It was amazing how difficult it still was to say that aloud. Clinical words for a child smashed across his windshield.

"How long were you in prison?"

"I served eight years of a fourteen year sentence."

"Eight years!" She wasn't loud enough to drown out the others' gasps. She looked straight at her father, appalled, and Toby shrank in his seat. He'd lost his best ally.

Lizzie asked Elliot, "Did you arrest him?" with a fearful glance at Toby.

"No. We met after he got out."

"When did he get out?"

Elliot licked his lip. "September."

"Last year? Only a year ago?" exclaimed Dickie.

"But that's how long you've known him," said Lizzie, eyes wide.

Her fear chilled Toby. He'd tried and failed to instil terror in his Em City companions, but he'd succeeded with Elliot's thirteen year-old daughter. He tried for a gentle voice, as he told her, "We met about a month after I got out. It was a couple of months after that that we ran into each other again, and we became friends."

"And he knew about you?" Maureen looked between them. "He knew you killed someone?"

"I knew, Maureen."

"Why didn't you tell us, Dad?" All eyes turned to Elliot.

"I wanted you to get to know him, first."

"You wanted us to think he was an okay guy."

"More than okay, Maureen." His voice was sharp, and it didn't do anything to ease the knot in Toby's gut.

"You put people in prison. You're really okay with someone like that being around Dick and Liz?" 

"Yeah, I am."

She held her father's gaze until Dickie jumped back into the fray. "What prison were you in?"

"I was in a place called Oswald. It's up near-"

"Oswald? That's for really bad skels!"

"My dad isn't bad!" Holly snapped, and all of the Stablers pulled back. "Don't say that word! He made a mistake and he paid for it! Don't talk to him like this!"

Toby reached for her hand. "It's okay, Hol-"

"No it isn't! Your dad isn't perfect either, you know!"

Toby saw the terror flare in Elliot's eyes, wanted to clap a hand over Holly's mouth before she could drag up Elliot splitting Toby's lip but Kathleen jumped in before Holly could elaborate. "Believe me, Hol, we know."

Maureen turned on her. "Kathleen!"

"He isn't!"

"So you're okay with this?"

"No! Maybe. I don't know." She threw up her hands. "I don't know!"

She was staring at Toby and didn't see the disbelieving look she got from Maureen before Maureen turned back to Elliot. "Have you told Mom your boyfriend just got out of prison?"

Elliot grimaced. "No, but let me be the one to tell her, all right? I promise I'll call her tonight."

"She's going to freak."

Toby was sure Maureen was right, and Elliot looked like he knew it, too. Elliot was going to be stuck justifying this to her on his own. What mother would be okay with Toby playing house with her children?

"May I be excused? Dad?"

Toby looked at Harry, realised it was the second time he'd asked. He looked miserable. "I'm sorry, Harry. Of course. I'm sorry, I should have found a better way to do this."

"I don't know why you had to tell them at all." It was barely loud enough to hear, as he slid out of his seat and went to sit on the couch.

Toby ached to follow him, but he couldn't leave this. He looked at Harry's hanging head, looked at the sea of shocked, appalled faces. Harry had to wait. Toby had to be the one to fix this, this time. As much as he could. "I understand why you're all upset. I did a terrible thing, and then I spent a long time in a bad place, with dangerous men, and maybe some of that rubbed off." Toby wished he could tell them he wasn't like the rest of the men in Oz, but he knew better. He wanted to tell them he deserved another chance, but he knew how many chances he'd had already. He couldn't help thinking, if he met someone fresh out of Oz, would he want them anywhere near Holly and Harry? Would he let O'Reilly or Hill or Fiona or even Chris take his kids out for ice cream? "I don't understand why your father is willing to give me a chance. I don't deserve it, but-"

Holly shoved her chair back and stalked away from the table. She didn't bother asking to be excused. Toby opened his mouth, grasping for something to say, and closed it again when Holly went to the couch to sit with Harry. He couldn't hear what she said, and only the tops of their heads were visible, but Harry didn't storm off, and neither of them started yelling.

Olivia stood up. "How about we all take a breather, and start clearing the table?"

Yes. God. Please. 

Kathleen cocked her head. "Olivia? Did you know?"

"I knew. I was there when Toby was just a witness." Her calm answer meant something to Kathleen. "Everyone grab a couple of plates, and leave them on the counter." She looked at Elliot and then Toby. "I've got this. Do what you have to do."

Toby could have hugged her. He had to get another five minutes alone with Elliot, he had to make sure Holly and Harry weren't quietly torturing each other, he had to find a cupboard or a drink and hide in it for an hour or five.

Elliot stood and pushed his chair in. "Thanks, Liv. I'd better go call Kathy."

Now? Elliot was headed for the door, shrugging on a coat and catching up a scarf before Toby could protest, and then he was gone and now Toby was facing four hostile faces. None of them would think anything of it if he grabbed one of Elliot's beers.

Olivia tugged his sleeve. "Come and show me where you keep your storage containers." There was more than a little police training in the seemingly casual way she hauled him out of his chair, away from the table to the kitchen. "Containers?"

Containers. Toby pointed, and then he pointed out the drawer with the foil and plastic wrap. "You're a guest, you shouldn't-"

"This is the least I can do. I may not cook, but I'm a master of storing leftovers." She dropped her voice. "I'm standing between you and all the beer, so if you're tempted, you don't have to worry about it being a choice."

"Two beers wouldn't be enough to do what I want anyway."

She didn't react to Toby's quick answer, the same way he hadn't reacted to her asking in the first place. If she could pretend she didn't mind that Elliot was dating an alcoholic, he could pretend too. "All the alcohol in the world won't get you anything you want." She touched his back, glancing towards the table where Elliot's kids were starting to pile plates, all talking in low voices and taking turns staring at Toby. "They're surprised, Toby. Give them some time to take it in before you decide this is a complete disaster."

Dick came in with a pile of plates, and Olivia stepped over to take them. She was a professional at giving people bad news. Toby didn't have much of a choice anyway. He sidled out of the kitchen to give them space and then stood uselessly in the middle of the room. Holly and Harry were still talking, and Toby didn't know whether to go and face them or stand back and hope they were getting along. He wanted to slink up to his bedroom and hide, but that probably wouldn't go down well with anyone. He wanted to follow Elliot out, eavesdrop and gauge how big an enemy he'd made of his ex-wife.

Sneaking the last two beers out to the backyard to wait for the axe to fall seemed like the best available plan. It was embarrassing that Olivia had stepped in to cut out the option, but it was a relief, too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot wrapped on his scarf and jammed his woollen cap over his head and took a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air. He leaned back against the door. He knew this was a cheat, leaving Toby in there, but he needed just a few seconds without Maureen's outrage or Dickie digging for details.

It was beautiful out here: clear sky, a warm sun to take the edge off the cold. A bunch of kids ran past, barely keeping their grip on a bounding Husky. It pulled them over to sniff at Holly's snow castle, still standing strong, and then dragged them along the street. Elliot remembered how Toby looked two days ago, trailing Harry back up these stairs to the porch.

He couldn't believe Toby did it. Just when everything was going well, like some kind of reflex, Toby had to tear the calm to pieces. Elliot couldn't believe he wasn't angrier than he was, but he was still reeling.

On some level, he'd always believed he could bring the kids around on Toby being a man. He knew they'd be surprised, but he hadn't raised bigots. But all their lives he'd been putting people in prison, relishing getting bad guys off the streets, promising them he was making their home safer, and he'd never seen any need to clarify any shades of grey in the correctional system. He hadn't prepared for this because he didn't know how.

Maureen was furious. The twins were shocked. And as usual, he didn't know where Kathleen stood.

He shuffled over to the top of the steps as he dialled the home phone, kicked his shoes in the snow while it rang. He honest-to-god had no idea how Kathy was going to react to this.

"Elliot! How are you?"

"Hey, Kathy." He wished he'd thought to grab his gloves. "Do you have time to talk?"

"That sounds ominous."

"No, it's... It's fine. I just need to talk to you before the kids do."

"All right." He knew from the way her voice sounded in the room that she was in the kitchen. Probably sitting at the kitchen table now, head tipped towards the phone, staring at the ceiling as she waited for him to get the words together.

He took another deep breath. "There's something I didn't tell you about Toby. He's served time."

It was a long wait for a response. "In prison?"

"Yeah. Nine years ago he was driving drunk and he, he killed someone. A child."

There was a long, long silence.

"Kath?"

"I'm here. I take it you just told the kids."

"Yeah."

After a moment she asked, "Was it his son?"

"No! What made you-"

"Maureen told me he lost a son."

Of course Maureen had filled in what she knew. Elliot wandered down the steps into the front yard. "No. It wasn't his son. Toby did eight years, got out last September."

"And you didn't think it was important to mention to me that you're introducing your children to an ex-con?"

"He isn't a master criminal or a perv, Kathy. He was driving drunk, no different to our daughter, except she was lucky not to cross paths with a girl on a bike."

"Get off your high horse, Elliot. How would you react if we switched roles?"

He made himself inhale a slow breath. He couldn't afford to take offence right now. "I'd be a grade-A prick."

Kathy went quiet for a moment. Elliot knew exactly the look in her eye. He wanted to leave it at that, but he knew Maureen was going to call as soon as she could, and he needed to get the ugly details out of the way first. "He did his time in maximum security, in Oswald."

"Eight years in maximum?" He could see her face, the shock and worry. "I thought it was hard enough to believe you were dating a lawyer. How are the kids reacting?"

"I don't know. Maureen's upset."

"She thought he was nice."

"He is." Elliot bit back his temper. "I didn't decide to tell them, Kath. Toby found out about Kathleen's DUI and he just... He was trying to warn her. He was trying to do the right thing."

He didn't want to deal with this now. He needed to go check Toby was okay. "Look, I have to get back in there. When I come back to New York, maybe we should get a drink, or a coffee, and I'll fill you in on the details."

"There's more?"

"I don't know. I'll talk to you when I get home, all right?" Elliot rubbed his neck.

"Fine. Thanks for telling me." The 'finally' hung there, unspoken.

"Okay. Bye." 

He started to hang up, until he heard her, "El?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy Thanksgiving."

He swallowed. "You too, Kath."

Elliot shut his phone and slid it back into his pocket, stared down at his footprints in the snow. He was going to have that long to figure out what Kathy needed to know. She should know what happened to Gary and Holly. She didn't need to know what happened to Toby in that place. No way in hell was she going to hear all the ugly details about Chris Keller.

Elliot turned back to the house and stopped. "How long have you been standing there?"

Kathleen came down to the last step. "I just came out. Don't worry, I wasn't eavesdropping."

"Come inside, you don't have proper shoes." Or a scarf, or a hat.

"I'm okay for a few minutes." She wrapped her arms around herself and waited.

Elliot ran his tongue along his teeth. He and Kathleen weren't good at talking to each other. Elliot thought about how Toby and Holly talked. Toby just laid himself open, as much as he could. Elliot huffed. Apparently Toby was going to do the same with Elliot's kids.

He rubbed his hands. "Thank you for what you said in there."

"About you not being perfect? I say that all the time."

Sometimes Elliot worried about the consequences of getting Kathleen out of lockup that day - how it might fall on him, or the guys who helped out - but he'd never let anyone question him protecting his family. Anyone but Toby. Toby had just done the job Elliot should have done with her last year. "You scare the hell out of me, Kathleen." 

"I don't drink and drive anymore, Dad."

"But you drink a lot."

"Not as much as you think I do. I'm seventeen. Kids drink."

Other people's kids, not Elliot's. "Maureen didn't drink as much as-"

"I'm not Maureen!" She shut her mouth, and he could see how she was revising, looking for another way in. Sometimes they were alike. "You really think I'm some kind of alcoholic, don't you?"

"I don't know!" He caught his breath. He'd never dared to suggest it. "I don't know. You don't talk to me."

"You don't talk to me, Dad. You just yell."

That hurt, but Elliot swallowed it back, spread his hands. "I'm not yelling now." Toby had made a conscious decision not to start a war with Holly over smoking. He'd cared about the why, more than the what. "Is there... Is there anything wrong? If you're drinking to... If you're hurting, I want to help."

She rolled her eyes, but without the usual hostility. "I swear, Dad, I'm not an alcoholic. I know, I'd say that anyway, but I'm not sneaking drinks in the daytime, and I don't have to drink to have a good time. Just... sometimes I do. Every night there's about a million teenage parties with alcohol that don't turn into SVU cases."

"And every night there are a few that destroy people's lives."

"Do you really think I'm on a fast slide to prison?" She sounded hurt.

Elliot crossed to stand in front of her. "I'm telling you, one stray kid on a bike and you could already be in prison."

"I get it, okay?" Her voice wobbled. Toby really had gotten to her. She clutched herself a little tighter, shuffling on the step to keep warm.

He unwound his scarf and reached up to tuck it around her neck, shivering as the cold slipped down his jacket. "Just... For five minutes, let's pretend I don't hate the idea of you drinking at all. Tell me that when you do, you're careful."

"I don't drink at all when I'm driving. Not one drink."

It was all such straight lines when you were seventeen. No concept of the infinite sprawling possibilities of things that could go wrong. "Do you watch your drinks, to make sure guys don't slip anything in them? Do you make sure someone's sober enough to keep an eye out? Do you always make sure you have the credit card I gave you for emergencies?"

"I'm careful, Dad."

Elliot was sure they had different concepts of careful, but it was the best he'd get. On impulse he climbed up on her step and hugged her, and she hugged him back, no hesitation. Elliot hugged her tighter. Kathleen still smelled the way she had as a little girl, when she used to crawl into his lap every chance she got.

He made himself let go when she loosened her grip, and there was another silence, neither of them meeting each other's eyes. "At least this time you can't complain that I told Maureen first."

"Because Toby told us. Not you."

"We were planning to wait a little longer." That wasn't true. It was an unspoken agreement, more than a plan. They'd never made any kind of plan. "How upset are you?"

"Am I upset that the most repressed, judgemental father in the history of the world has gone and hooked up with a male ex-con?" She cracked a smile. "That part's kind of funny."

"Funny?" Elliot parroted.

"You. I never would have guessed you could do something so crazy. Grandma's gonna love this."

Kathleen was off her rocker. If Elliot had his way, his mother was never going to hear about this at all.

"I'm not saying I'm okay with how you treated Mom or with you being happy. But I like him."

"I'll take it." He shook his head and pushed his hands into his pockets. "It's typical Toby, to avoid talking to you guys all weekend, and then dump half his baggage out over the dinner table."

"That's only half his baggage?"

"Kathleen..."

"Does he have any prison tattoos? Because that'd be even better."

"No. He doesn't." She wouldn't find his brand funny at all, but Elliot's snotty tone got a smile.

She grabbed his collar and gave it a pull. "Come back inside, Dad. It's cold out here."


	61. Flying downhill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 60, Not a plan:  
> Elliot was surprisingly not furious that Toby announced his prison stint over pumpkin pie. Toby was quite bothered that that was how he found out about Kathleen's DUI.  
> Toby tried to deal with the mess he'd made. On the plus side, Kathleen seemed open. On the minus side, he'd lost Maureen, horrified Dick, scared Liz, shamed Harry and infuriated Holly. Way to go, Toby.  
> Olivia called a time out, and Elliot used it to update Kathy. Kathleen used it to start a real conversation with Elliot about drinking.

"They keep staring at us."

Toby looked up as soon as the door opened, putting a hand over Harry's to let him know he was still paying attention. Elliot and Kathleen came in together, looking calm enough. She even let him take her coat. "I know, Harry. But give them a little time to get over the shock, and maybe you'll find they'll be more understanding than you think."

Toby watched Elliot's eyes sweep over the room as he pulled off his own cap and coat, taking in Maureen and Dick helping Olivia jam the last things in the fridge, glancing up the stairs as though he guessed that's where Lizzie had gone, finally settling on Toby, turning warm. He gave a tiny nod, which Toby took to mean that Kathy wasn't on her way up here to drag her kids away from the convicted felon. One mercy. Not enough to calm all the turkey churning in his stomach, but it helped a little.

"Nobody understands," said Holly.

Elliot asked Olivia if she needed a hand, and she shook her head but she dumped her tea towel and met him halfway.

"Give me a minute, okay?" Toby put a hand on each of the kids' heads as he stood and went to join Elliot and Olivia, in time to hear Elliot quietly apologise for dragging her into the family drama. He cut in. "I'm the one who should be apologising." To her, to Elliot, to everyone here.

"My Thanksgivings growing up were my mother and me and a couple of Swanson turkey TV dinners. It's nice to see how the other half lives." She bumped her shoulder against Elliot's, with a side glance at Toby. "You realise you have six kids now? Your own Brady Bunch."

Toby snorted.

Elliot looked around the room again, at all the kids shamelessly watching their quiet conversation. "If Carol Brady was a felon and Mike Brady spent his days collaring sex offenders."

And if Bobby Brady lived on the other side of the country, and four of the kids lived with their mother, and nothing ever got resolved in an episode.

"Maybe you're Carol," Olivia retorted, seeming to forget which of them she'd seen in a dress.

"Maybe I am," said Elliot, quirking an eyebrow. The call to Kathy must have gone well, for him to be in such good spirits.

Toby offered, "I like the idea of Florence Henderson having a sideline apprehending perverts."

Elliot smiled. "Me too."

Toby couldn't believe how well he was taking this. Toby had screwed everything up, and Elliot was just rolling with it.

Olivia looked around, raised her voice so everyone could hear. "If there are no other plans for this afternoon, I think I'll go for a walk, work off some of this food. Anyone want to come?"

Dick leaned over the counter. "Dad, Toby said there's a toboggan slope just down the street. Can Liz and I go?"

"Please Dad?" Lizzie yelled, clattering down the stairs.

Elliot looked up at her. "Uhhh..."

Toby had made an off-hand remark this morning. "It's half a toboggan slope, anyway. It's not big." Toby used to go there when he was their age.

"Can I go too?" said Harry, from the couch.

"Sounds like fun to me," said Kathleen. "Why don't we all go?"

Elliot's and Toby's eyes met. Had they really gone from high family drama to tobogganing in a matter of minutes?

The twins didn't look thrilled by the change in their plans, but Elliot shrugged. "I wouldn't mind watching."

"Please, Dad?" said Harry.

Toby couldn't say no to him today. Until he saw Holly's stormy face and wavered. She didn't want to go anywhere. Maybe that meant it would be good for her. "I wouldn't mind a walk." He needed something to settle all that food.

Maureen didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about pretending everything was fine either, but eventually everyone decided to go, either for the sledding or to watch other people do it or maybe just because they didn't want to miss it if Toby knifed someone on the way. Toby asked for help digging a couple of sleds out of the garage, and Harry came bounding over. Lizzie followed a couple of minutes later, watching him the whole time like he might pick her pockets, but she was more helpful digging through the dusty equipment than Harry. She was a sweet kid, and up to now all her experience of felons had been her father's pride in locking them away. Toby thanked her about twenty times.

Toby had a good look at the sleds to make sure they were in good condition, and it was another ten minutes of everyone layering on clothes before they started shuffling out of the house, pausing for people to run back for phones or cameras or the toilet or god knew what else.

They were only going to have an hour before the sun got too low, but Toby was going to grasp for every minute of not being glared at he could get.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Again, Dad!"

Elliot lay back in the snow, catching his breath. He'd forgotten how much fun that could be. "I said one run."

"Come on!"

He put out his hand and let Lizzie pretend she was doing the work pulling him to his feet. "Why don't you ask Holly?"

They'd left Olivia up top, enjoying the view. It was a nice slope, just a local park with a big enough hill for a decent run. They were sharing it with a group of middle schoolers on gliders and inner tubes, who'd been friendly and thankfully didn't seem to be doing anything stupid. The shadows were getting long, but Elliot was in no hurry to put an end to this.

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. "Dick will come with me."

"Why don't you ask Holly?" She'd say no, but it would mean something to her to be asked, especially the way things were right now.

"Dick already asked her; she said no." She waved at the picnic table where the rest of his kids were gathered and yelled, "Dick! Ride with me!"

He caught her arm. "I understand you being upset about Toby, but I hope you aren't taking it out on his kids." She didn't seem to be - she'd taken a run down with Harry ten minutes ago.

Elizabeth wouldn't look him in the eye. "Harry's all right. She's a snob."

"What? No, she isn't."

"She's barely spoken to us all weekend. "

"She's shy."

"She's weird."

Defensive anger surged, and Elliot tamped it down. Hadn't Holly told him as much? He wondered how many kids at St Edith's thought she was weird. "Be nice. Liz, she's had a hard life."

"What, being rich?"

"Elizabeth."

She pulled free. "Oh, that's right, because her dad's a criminal."

"Elizabeth!"

"I'm not being mean to her. I just don't want to ride with her. She's weird, and she's a daddy's girl."

"Toby was gone for-"

Dickie raced up and snatched the rope and Lizzie chased him up the hill, and Elliot was left talking to air. He wouldn't have minded if Elizabeth was more of a daddy's girl. She'd never understood the meaning of shy.

Elliot tugged his woollen cap back into place and cleared out of the way before one of the locals ran him down. There were two girls racing each other on flattened cardboard boxes, and getting a pretty decent run. Holly was tucked up against a tree, well away from Maureen and Kathleen, watching everyone else's fun. She'd spent most of her time chatting on the phone, and didn't seem to mind that Toby had been down the hill with Harry twice, or that Harry had taken turns with Kathleen and Lizzie, as long as she was left alone. He wanted to tell her that he didn't think she was weird. If it meant anything coming from an old guy.

So far this escapade had been calm. All his kids were keeping their distance from Toby, but they'd been fine with Harry. He'd seen Maureen on the phone earlier, and he was dead sure Kathy had been on the other end. That was one conversation he had no wish to eavesdrop on.

Harry was shrieking and laughing in Toby's arms as they came shooting down again. Toby was bundled up in his red parka, and he'd dumped his furry hat on Harry's head, and he was beaming.

Elliot wanted a piece of that. It felt like an age since he and Toby had done something just for fun. Sex aside, of course. He strolled over and helped Harry up. "Can I take a turn?"

He still couldn't read Harry's mind, but Harry handed over the rope. "Sure."

"C'mon, Toby. You and me."

Toby stared up from his seat in the snow. "Us? I don't know if this thing is built for two adults."

"Looks sturdy enough to me." Elliot took Toby's elbow, and nudged him towards the fence line, growled in his ear. "Want to wrap myself around you."

Toby glanced around. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Elliot wasn't going to plant a great wet kiss on him on the way down. There was more to it than that. Maureen was right yesterday: Toby had been hiding in the kitchen all weekend, and it wasn't just avoiding confrontations with the kids. It was keeping a safe distance from Elliot, making sure he didn't trespass on their father. To hell with that. Elliot wanted all of them - Harry too - to see him and Toby flying down the hill together, laughing and holding each other tight. They especially needed to see it now.

He put a hand on Toby's back as they trudged up the hill, not letting himself look over his shoulder to see what the kids thought of that. "How are you doing?"

"All right. How was Kathy?"

"Surprised."

"I'll bet."

"How are Harry and Holly doing?"

"Harry was fine as soon as Kathleen invited him to share a ride down the hill. Holly will be okay when this calms down. If it calms down." Toby stopped. "I'm sorry, Elliot."

Elliot couldn't be angry when Toby looked that lost. "Kathleen thinks it's funny."

Toby pulled back, eyes going wide. "She what?"

"Not... how you got in there, obviously. Just me, dating an ex-con."

Toby smiled. "That part is pretty funny."

"Yeah." That smile was a relief. Elliot nudged him to keep climbing. "We had a good talk, thanks to you."

"Really?"

"I'll tell you about it later." After he'd caught his breath. But for now, they'd reached the top of the hill and Olivia was wandering over.

She'd remembered a hat this time, and her cheeks were rosy from the breeze up here. "Are you sure that thing is built for you two muscleheads?"

Elliot gave it a little kick. "This isn't flimsy Walmart crap. This thing was built to last."

She gave them both a dubious look, and raised her hands to say she'd done her part.

Elliot turned to Toby, who had the same look. It was cute as hell with him all bundled up like that. "You want front or back?"

"You're sure this is a good idea?"

"You think it's going to break in two halfway down?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." And he was completely sure this was a good idea. If Elliot stepped away now, they'd all think he was ashamed. "You take front." He didn't want to give Toby a choice of how close they clung together on the way down.

Toby begrudgingly sat in front and took the rope. Elliot settled behind him, cursing his knees and then forgetting about them as soon as he pressed himself against Toby's back. Elliot pulled off his gloves and tucked them away, and then reached around and slid his hands under Toby's parka, in the warm space over his woollen sweater. Toby's hair curled against his neck where his scarf hung loose, just inches from Elliot's nose.

From here they could see curling streets of white-roofed houses, and the grey waters of the lake spreading beyond them. The twins were climbing the hill again, their sisters sitting on top of the picnic table with Harry, Holly watching Toby and Elliot from the spot she'd staked out by the tree. Toby waved, and she half-lifted her phone in response.

"You ready for this?"

Toby looked back. "I can feel your woody."

Elliot grinned and wriggled a little closer. Toby wouldn't be able to feel it through all these clothes if he did have a hard-on, but he liked the idea. He waited for a couple of local kids on gliders to clear out at the bottom, and then he pushed with his feet, and they didn't move.

"Someone needs to lay off the donuts."

"Shut it." Elliot stuck his feet in the snow for leverage, and bounced a little, and Toby sniggered. "If I've been putting weight on this year, it's not donuts that are doing it."

Hands pressed on Elliot's back, and Olivia said, "This is painful to watch. Put your feet up."

The sled finally started to shift and Elliot wrapped his legs alongside Toby's; Olivia gave them a good hard push and they were picking up speed, the wind in their faces, flying downhill and Elliot was helpless against the smile spreading across his face. Toby was clutching his arm and even from behind, Elliot knew he was grinning. Elliot would have squeezed him tighter if he could. He dug his fingers into all that warm wool, felt the solid wall of Toby's abs behind it, clamped his knees and felt Toby brace back, and as they dropped a giddy chuckle worked its way up from his toes.

The bottom rushed towards them and way too soon the hill flattened and they slowed, Harry running up before they'd stopped. "My turn!"

Elliot could have stood to grope Toby a little longer, but chivalry demanded he give Toby back to his son. He rubbed Toby's stomach before he let go and enjoyed the heated look he got in return. Both of them were gasping for the breath they'd left at the top of the hill.

Toby climbed to his feet and gave the rope to Harry to pull the sled, following after him but his eyes kept turning back to Elliot until Harry said something to drag his attention away.

Elliot was brought back to the world by familiar raised voices. If he'd been hoping to turn the kids around with a show of unity, he'd failed. He'd planned to go over and tease Holly like he had at the ski slope, make her feel included, but his first priority on damage control right now was his own kids. He headed for the picnic table where the two oldest were going at it loud enough that they never saw him coming.

"You're ridiculous, Kathleen. He doesn't have tattoos and a motorbike. He spent eight years in Oswald and you're just happy because you'll be able to throw it in Dad's face next time you bring home some petty criminal."

"Maybe I am."

Elliot joined them. "Then you'll be disappointed."

Maureen spread her hands, like she'd just won a point. God, she looked like Kathy when she was angry. "But you're happy having a man like that around Dick and Lizzie?"

"He's exactly the sort of man I want around them." He kept his voice conversational, hoping it would quieten them. Holly didn't need to hear this.

"So what's wrong with Kathleen's theoretical future delinquent boyfriend?"

Elliot swung a leg over the bench to sit. Luckily, this one he had prepared ahead, though he'd always thought he'd be using it on Kathleen, not Maureen. "Toby made his mistake nine years ago, and he's turned his life around. If Kathleen brings home someone who had his last crime spree when he was ten, I'll be more than understanding."

"You think this is a joke?"

"Believe me, I don't." He was trying not to be irritated, because he would have had all the same problems if he didn't know Toby like he did. But he was irritated as hell. He was her father, not a rebellious teenager. "Do you really think after all these years worrying about you, I'd introduce you to somebody I couldn't trust?"

"Maybe if you were just thinking with your di-"

"Maureen! Gross!" Kathleen cut in and covered her ears before Elliot even realised where she'd been going with that.

She'd been about to say... "Maureen Helen Stabler, don't you dare speak to-"

Kathleen dug her fingers into his arm, and he realised he was rising out of his seat. She said, "Look at Toby with his kids. Do you really think he's a danger to Dick and Liz?"

"We don't know anything about him, except he's been in prison."

Elliot leaned forward on the table, but he forced his ass to stay on the bench. "Are you angry about what he did, Maureen? Or is it where he's been? He'll tell you himself, he spent eight years playing cards and basketball with people as bad as any I've put in places like that. But he came out the other side a better man, and that's no small feat." Elliot kept a foot in that world, and he wasn't a better man for it. Elliot looked to the top of the hill where it seemed like Toby was juggling a conversation with Olivia with resisting Harry's attempts to pull him back to the slope. Maureen was saying all the things Elliot would have said, if someone had suggested having Toby meet the family back in January. Or August. Hell, she was making all the arguments Elliot had expected from Kathy when he called. How could he blame her for that? "He did a terrible thing, but Maureen, he did his time. You don't know how much he suffered in there."

"Did he suffer as much as Kathy's parents?"

For a different ex-con, Elliot would have asked exactly the same question.

Lizzie and Dickie were lining themselves up at the top of the hill, so Elliot took a moment to watch, grateful for the distraction. A short push to start and they were flying down, her ponytail streaming behind, Dickie whooping and laughing almost too hard to steer. They slid to a stop at the bottom and Dickie rolled on top of Lizzie, the pair of them wrestling in the snow. Elliot stood up to yell a reminder not to be horsing around in the way of other sledders when a sled came rushing straight for them. His heart leapt into his throat as the teen yelled and swerved, thank god, and then everyone saw the tree and Elliot remembered Holly was-

There was a "Fuck!" and a thunk and a different kind of scream and Elliot was racing over, heart like a rock in his chest until he saw Holly was untouched, thank god, rooted to the spot and staring at the boy who was curled around his arm on the ground in front of her, crying in pain, and the snow around him was patched with bright red.

He slowed to check she was all right before he turned to the boy, but a low animal moan caught him and he looked again, saw her pupils flooded black in her bleach-white face, saw her swaying, and he snatched her up before she fell, turned her away. "Don't look, Hol." He looked around helplessly. The boy's friends were gathering but there weren't any adults and now Holly was clinging to his chest, shaking. "Holly, I need you to go with Maureen-" She yelped and her fingers dug painfully into his shoulders.

Elliot's kids raced up. "Did they hit her?" "I thought they missed her!" "Is she okay?"

He felt like an asshole for trying to pass her off like this but he had to get Maureen to take her. "Please, Holly," but all he got was a wail and a barnacle-grip and his own arms tightened. He couldn't do it. "Maureen, check the boy, Kathleen, get Toby and Liv." He tucked Holly's face into his neck. "It's okay, Hol." He could feel her trembling, and he could hear the boy yelling and cursing in pain, and Lizzie and Dickie were staring at him, wondering why he wasn't doing anything.

He bit the fingertip of his glove to pull it off and worked his hand under her scarf to find her pulse, racing.

"Elliot!"

"Liv!" Thank god. "I can't..." With a nod she cut her way into the crowd of kids, and Elliot turned his attention to Holly, squeezing her close and murmuring calm and wishing Toby would-

"Holly!" Toby's voice, high with panic and out of breath from rushing down the hill.

"Holly, it's your dad."

She wouldn't loosen her grip even as Toby called her name; she was starting to gasp and Elliot didn't think she was hearing anything so he just held her and reminded her to breathe until Toby reached them and peeled her away. The moment she had eyes on Toby, Elliot was forgotten with a wail.

"It's shock, there was a lot of blood." Elliot shoved her into Toby's arms and finally pushed his way through the crowd.

The kid looked around fourteen, red-eyed and gritting his teeth against the pain but calm. Maureen was pressing a bloody scarf to his face, and his right forearm was tucked tight to his side, more blood staining his grey sweater.

"How bad is it?"

Olivia looked up. "A pretty impressive compound fracture, split lip, lots of grazes." She squeezed the kid's leg. "I'm sure it hurts like hell, but you'll survive."

One of the others spoke up. "Jeremy's gone to get his mother. She's a nurse practitioner."

The boy in question pushed Maureen's scarf away and bared his teeth in a bloody smile. "Stitch me up. We've got lift tickets tomorrow."

Olivia shook her head. "You can kiss those goodbye, kiddo."

It sounded like everything was under control, but the adrenaline was still pumping and Elliot felt dizzy. "You need me, Liv?"

"I've got it."

Elliot almost stumbled moving away, legs wobbling under him. He had to check on Toby and Holly. Maureen passed charge of the scarf on the boy's face to someone else and hurried after him. Elliot saw Dickie and Lizzie and Harry and pulled them out of the rubbernecking crowd. Toby and Holly were nowhere to be seen, but everyone else followed him. "Did Toby take Holly back to the house?"

Kathleen answered. "Yeah. What the hell was that, Dad?"

"Yeah, what was with Holly?" Dickie asked. "He never touched her."

"I think she just got a shock," said Kathleen.

"That was more than surprise. She flipped out. Dad?"

Elliot rubbed his face. All four kids were staring at him, wide-eyed, and Harry was staring at the ground. A blue pickup pulled up and a woman rushed out to the crowd by the tree, shoving the kids aside and snapping about teenagers and their stupid stunts. Olivia could handle it. Elliot was dizzy.

"Dad?" Lizzie, this time.

He couldn't take them back to the house like this. "There are a few things you should know." He sat at the picnic bench, exhausted, gut still fluttering with worry. Looked at Harry, who looked almost as shell-shocked as Holly. He wished he could send him back to the house. "Are you okay to listen to this?" Harry nodded. Elliot waited for everyone to sit with him. This was another conversation they should have planned for. He didn't know what Toby would want them to know, or what Holly would want them to know. "I told you all that Toby's oldest son died." They nodded. "When Holly was six and Gary was eight - while Toby was in prison - they were kidnapped."

Maureen's "Oh my god," filled the quiet.

"Gary was murdered. Holly was held for two weeks." He swallowed. "So she doesn't do too well with seeing things that scare her." Elliot couldn't imagine what the sight of that boy's twisted and bloodied-up hand had done to her. He wanted to go back to the house now and check on her and Toby.

"She saw it? When he was murdered?" asked Kathleen.

Elliot froze. He didn't know if Harry knew that part. "Yeah."

Harry kept on staring at the table.

"He was eight?" Lizzie asked.

"Yeah."

It all sounded too cold to Elliot, detached like a police report, but Dickie was grasping Lizzie's hand under the table. Maureen and Kathleen were blinking back tears. Part of Elliot was sitting on the floor of Toby's apartment, helping to muffle Toby's sobs and staring at Holly's macabre artwork of Gary's severed hand.

Elliot watched Olivia and the boy's mother herd him carefully into the car, pausing to exchange phone numbers before she drove off. Olivia went back to the crowd, checking everyone was all right, and then headed their way.

"Did they catch the guy who did it?" Lizzie asked.

Elliot only hesitated a second. "Yeah." They didn't need to know the details. "He died a long time ago." 

"Why did he do it?"

For the first time, Elliot felt Harry's big eyes on him. He couldn't help glancing at Maureen as she wiped her nose with the back of her glove, wondering if this finished their last conversation, but he turned to Olivia, waved at her bloodstained jacket. "And you thought you wouldn't be ruining any clothes up here."

A soft snort, and then she looked over the sombre group. "Everyone here okay?"

"We are," said Maureen, with an emphasis on the 'we'.

Olivia put a hand on Harry's head. "How about you?"

Harry nodded without looking up.

She looked at Elliot. "Do you want to head back, or give them some time?"

"Let's head back." It was a big house; they'd have privacy if they wanted it, but Elliot needed to be close by.

Dickie went up to get the sled Toby had left at the top of the hill, and Lizzie went to get the other one, and Elliot sent Maureen and Kathleen away with a look, for a minute alone with Harry. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Elliot didn't know if he should reach out, or leave it for Toby to talk to him later. He stayed quiet as they walked back to the house.

Maureen and Kathleen walked with their elbows linked, talking quietly. Dickie had an arm around Lizzie. Elliot wanted to hug them all.

When they reached the yard, Harry looked up. "Holly must have thought the man was going to murder her too."

"I think so." For ten full days.

Harry looked down, but Elliot saw his chin shake. He curled a hand around Harry's shoulder and tugged. Harry resisted, wouldn't take a hug but he let Elliot's hand rest there as they trudged into the silent house.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby didn't know what time it was when Holly finally settled. Her breathing evened out and his grew unsteady but he forced himself to stay silent, kept his hand on the bunched blankets over her shoulder so he wouldn't disturb her sleep. It was later still when he finally let her go and made his way up the dark hallway to his bedroom.

Once upon a time after a night like this one, he would have been crazed with the siren call of gin, or heroin. Tonight he would have tunnelled straight through the drug squad lockup to get to Elliot's arms.

Elliot had fallen asleep with the bedside light on. He'd stuck his head in on Toby and Holly when everyone got back, and he'd slipped in again later to see if they wanted dinner. He'd passed Toby a note to say Olivia had spoken to the boy's mother, and apart from the cast and the stitches he was fine.

They'd passed on dinner and now hunger was settling in, but Toby didn't care enough to do anything about it. He stripped down to his shorts and shirt and crawled in, didn't bother to sneak. He wanted Elliot to wake up.

Elliot's arms came around him and pulled him into the furnace-hollow of his body; he tucked Toby's head against his neck and didn't say a word, just squeezed him the way Toby had squeezed Holly all evening.

Holly was never going to be okay. Not completely. One day she'd be forty years old with kids of her own, and some random accident or TV news report would bring Hank Schillinger back to life and make her six years old all over again.

Toby wanted to tell Elliot how much it meant that his first instinct had been to protect her. How much it meant that Toby could trust him to take care of everything else while Toby came back here and holed up with Holly.

He squirmed closer, hooked a leg over Elliot's. "You told them?"

"Yeah."

"Are they all right?"

"Of course." Elliot rubbed his face in Toby's hair. "I hope... Harry knew the details, didn't he?"

"He knew the basics." Toby had never asked Jonah and Marta what exactly they'd told him. He probably should, in light of the birthday disaster.

"Maybe he's old enough to understand it better, now."

"Maybe." Toby realised he'd never told Elliot about Harry's birthday. With everything Elliot did for him today, and lying here, talking in low voices, that seemed ridiculous. "He didn't know Genevieve killed herself."

"What?"

"Holly told him on his birthday."

"Hell."

"Yeah. She didn't know he didn't know, she just..."

"Blurted it out."

"Yeah."

Elliot's lips brushed across his ear.

"I can't help her," Toby whispered.

"Helping her is exactly what you're doing."

It was bullshit but it was exactly what Toby needed to hear. He let go of a chunk of guilt, like an iceberg cracking and sliding away from a glacier. Enough for now.

Elliot was hot and sticky and solid, and he smelled of fresh sweat. All the bumps of his body fit to the hollows of Toby's and vice versa. Toby hadn't thought he'd ever sleep tonight, but the gentle fingers massaging his scalp had him drifting.

Elliot gave him a little shake. "Come on. Get ready for bed."

"'M fine."

"At the very least you need to piss and take out your contacts." The sleepy, growly voice could have soothed him deeper but Elliot pulled Toby with him as they sat up, and then held him until Toby roused enough to sit up on his own. Toby was childishly grateful that Elliot followed him to the bathroom and waited while he pissed, hovered as Toby fished out his contacts. The tiles were chilly underfoot but even here the bulk of Elliot's body filled and warmed the room.

"Hungry?"

Yes, but he couldn't be bothered to go downstairs, and didn't want Elliot to leave. "I'm fine." He bent over the sink and splashed fresh cold water over his face, rubbed his gritty eyes.

"Brush your teeth?"

Toby wavered, and then reached for his toothbrush. It would help to feel clean. He'd pushed Holly through a similar routine a couple of hours ago.

Toby spat and rinsed. "How's Harry?"

"He's fine. He's worried about both of you." Elliot rubbed his back, and Toby leaned into the touch. "He asked me about coming for Christmas."

Toby straightened, waking up. "He what?"

"He asked what was happening at Christmas. I told him we hadn't planned anything yet, and he asked if I think he might be able to come."

"He said that?"

Elliot looked deadly serious. "I told him I knew for absolute sure he was welcome whenever he wanted, and that having him visit was the best present you could get."

Toby's breath rushed out. Harry wanted to come for Christmas.

Elliot stepped closer, curled a hand around the nape of Toby's neck. "Do you want to drive Holly home tomorrow?"

"I offered, but she turned me down, said she didn't want the fuss." As much as Toby wanted to keep her close, he understood. "Mother's seen her through more nightmares than I have." He rubbed a hand over Elliot's solid shoulder. "I need you."

Elliot kissed him hard.


	62. Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 61, Flying downhill:  
> After it was quietly agreed that Elliot was Carol Brady, and no one dared to suggest Olivia was Alice, the Thanksgiving drama took a strange but welcome turn to tobogganing. Liz didn't want to go down with Holly, on account of Holly being a snob and weirdo. Elliot took a ride down with Toby for everyone to see.  
> Elliot joined Maureen and Kathleen's argument on the relative dangers of Toby, cut short when a bloody sledding accident tripped Holly into a panic attack. Toby rushed Holly home, and Elliot was left to explain Gary and Holly's history to everyone. Toby got Holly to sleep and crawled in with Elliot.

A yelp woke Elliot.

He didn't know where he was until Toby's soft voice broke through, soothing, and it took a moment more to realise it wasn't for him.

"It's okay, sweetheart, it's far away."

Elliot stiffened, not wanting to disturb Holly, and way too much of an SVU detective to be comfortable with an adolescent girl in his bed, however innocent.

The flash of lightning through that huge picture window clued him in, and then there was a clap of thunder and Holly sobbed, and Elliot felt her jump from the other side of the bed. Thundersnow on top of that kid's shattered arm today. Small wonder.

"Hush, sweetheart, it's okay, I've got you."

Toby's voice was soft, but there was an edge of stress in it that Elliot knew well. He'd sounded the same when Maureen was having nightmares about being on fire after seeing that burned body when she was fifteen. There was nothing worse than being powerless against your kid's terror. There was a gust of wind that made the whole house shake, and he braced himself for her whimper. The storm wasn't going anywhere soon.

He slid out of bed, knew Holly's whimper was for the reminder he was there. "Why don't we turn some lights on, I'll make hot chocolate?" He felt for his shirt on the floor and slipped it on before hitting the bedside lamp. Holly's face was buried against Toby's chest, her body curled up in a ball. Toby's face was miserable.

Elliot drew the curtains to muffle the whipping trees, and shuffled off towards the toilet. He was groggy, but a piss and a splash of water over his face woke him up a little. Despite how smart she was, how strong she was, all Toby's love, this shit was going to be chasing Holly all her life. It made him want to hug Toby the way Toby was hugging Holly.

Downstairs, turning on plenty of lights. Saucepan, milk... Elliot knew he'd seen chocolate powder in the cupboard... there. He winced at another thunderclap. Not Elliot's brand, but he could make it work. Marshmallows, bonus. He put the milk on to warm and turned on the TV, dropping the volume and flipping until he found the Golden Girls. Shouldn't be much chance of trauma on that. There'd been enough going on the past few days that he hadn't thought to be watching weather reports. Who the hell expected a thunderstorm in Vermont in November?

He went upstairs again, pushed open the door. "Come on." No use lying there, concentrating on the storm. If Holly could live with Elliot seeing her upset, the best they could do was distract her until it was over.

Toby gave a little nod and Elliot left him to coax her out. He was about to head downstairs when he remembered Toby talking about the nightmares after Coney Island, Harry making fun of her for wetting the bed. He crept into the dark bedroom and took a moment to watch Lizzie. She was frowning like she always did when she was deep in sleep. He felt Holly's sheets, was relieved to find he wouldn't have to change them, and crept out again.

It was cool downstairs, so he grabbed a couple of extra blankets from the cupboard, threw them on the couch and went back to check the milk. Hot chocolate and television had become a ritual with Maureen when he couldn't get her back to sleep after the nightmares, until it just started being a thing they shared. Sometimes he'd come home from a late shift to find her waiting for him on the couch, drowsing in front of some mindless TV, blanket half in her lap, half spread out waiting for him. There was no better cure for a miserable night at a hellish crime scene. He'd missed that the most, when she moved out.

Elliot tucked the bag of marshmallows under his arm and hooked three mugs in his fingers to carry out just as Toby guided her down the stairs. She looked as embarrassed as she was terrified, face splotchy and wet. Toby was in his glasses, his hair sticking up in every direction. He settled on the couch with her, and Elliot waited until she was covered with a blanket before passing her a hot chocolate and taking up the other side of Toby. "I used to hate storms when I was a kid." A lot younger than Holly, of course, but his mother used to turn all the lights on and chatter like it was nothing until it rumbled away. Whatever her failings, she'd always been great at distraction. "You want marshmallows?"

She sniffed and rubbed her red eyes and nodded, so Elliot dropped a couple in and offered the bag to Toby.

Toby took four, and nodded towards the screen. The picture bounced off his glasses. "There used to be an old woman living a few doors down from here when I was a teenager; she was so much like Sophia. She scandalised the neighbourhood the way she said whatever she thought. Your grandfather used to invite her over every chance he had, to Mother's horror."

It got a small, tremulous smile out of Holly. Elliot and Toby chatted quietly about anything as she slowly calmed, until she was only flinching at the thunder.

Toby turned. "Maureen. Sorry, did we wake you?"

She was coming down the stairs, squinting against the lights, arms wrapped in her over-size t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms. "I smell a hot chocolate party." She gave them a long, strange look, and then sat beside Elliot.

He passed her his hot chocolate. It was still warm enough. "Remember when we used to do this?"

"I miss it." She took a sip and passed it back, scrunching her nose. "You never put enough marshmallows in yours."

Elliot started to wiggle out. "I'll make you some."

She waved him down and got up. "I'll get it. You look comfortable." She gave him a wry look as she headed for the kitchen.

Elliot realised Toby was slumped back against his shoulder and they were sharing a blanket that had probably been crocheted by his grandmother, curled up together as intimately as he'd ever been on the couch with Kathy. Maureen hadn't said anything so he subsided, buried his nose in Toby's hair. It was too much to hope she'd gotten past this afternoon, but he'd gladly take the ceasefire.

A couple of minutes later she was climbing in beside him with a fresh mug, tucking her feet under her like this was just another night in their old house, like she hadn't been horrified a few hours ago.

Thunder cracked nearby and Holly seized up with a whimper.

Maureen shot her a concerned look, but kept her voice light. "Is this the episode where they want to save the tree?"

Lizzie came down during the next ads, Dickie lumbering half-awake behind her. "Is something happening?"

Maureen spoke up. "Rose thinks she gave the neighbour a heart attack."

"Is that the one where the mean old lady wants to chop the tree down?"

Both the twins cast a few thoughtful looks, but neither said anything about their father being curled up with a felon, or Holly's red eyes. Elliot squeezed Toby's leg under the blanket, and Toby leaned closer. The twins sprawled on the floor.

Next came Harry. "What's going on?"

"Storm's woken everybody up," said Maureen. "Want a hot chocolate?"

"Really?" His eyes went wide like he'd just been offered a month of ice cream. Elliot guessed this didn't happen at Jonah and Marta's house.

"Middle-of-the-night hot chocolate is the best. I'll make one for Kathleen, too."

She headed back to the kitchen, phone in hand, texting a wake-up to her sister. That was everyone but Liv, so Elliot reached for his own phone on the coffee table, trying not to shift Toby or to let the cool air sneak under the blanket, and texted, 'Impromptu party downstairs. PJs okay.'

A few minutes later Liv was coming down the stairs dressed in the same t-shirt-flannel combo as Maureen, but with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Kathleen was two minutes after her. Maureen brought them mugs, and then curled up back beside Elliot.

Elliot's girls were appalled to find out Harry had never seen the Golden Girls before. It sounded like Jonah and Marta didn't allow much TV, and definitely not midnight Hallmark channel marathons. 

Elizabeth started a debate over which was their favourite character. Dickie liked Blanche, of course. So did Elliot, but he kept it to himself. They were all talking over each other, and they got Holly wound up enough arguing the merits of Dorothy that she didn't even notice the next thunder strike.

Blanche wandered in, worrying about the shrieking and moaning the night before. Dorothy quipped about the noise from Blanche's bedroom, , and went back to reading her magazine.

Harry said, "I think I like Dorothy best, too."

Credits rolled and another episode began, the chatter trickling off. Toby had grown heavier, warm and solid, and Elliot's arm was asleep, but he just wriggled his fingers. He wouldn't have shifted Toby for the world. Holly's head had rolled off Toby's thigh, and Kathleen's mouth was hanging wide, her eyes shut. Everyone else was drowsing or half-drowsing, Dickie and Lizzie slumped together and slurring their commentary. Under the blanket Toby's hand wrapped around Elliot's and squeezed. It felt electric, illicit. He murmured, "This is how I felt on the drive up here."

Elliot's chest thumped, just like it had when he said it aloud that night. He twisted his neck to catch Toby's lips, held him there for a little while. Perfectly still, breathing him all the way in. He wished there was a way to sneak upstairs, kiss him all over.

When they let go Maureen was staring. She blinked, and turned back to the TV.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby didn't have the energy to move. Everything hurt. Elliot circled around and opened the door, pulled him out of the passenger seat. "Let's just leave all your stuff down here. We'll pull it out tomorrow." It sounded great to Toby.

Elliot propped Toby's skis against the garage wall while Toby tossed his wettest clothes over the drying rack in the corner and then wrapped his arms around Elliot's neck. "Thank you."

"You had a good time out there?" Elliot's hands were rubbing the warmth back into him.

Toby just shook his head. He couldn't even begin to explain. He'd forgotten that air could be that fresh. Even Brooklyn air had been a pleasure after the years in Oz, but this was something else. He'd always loved to ski: the speed, the solitude... he would have described it as a kind of freedom back when he couldn't have comprehended what that word meant. Now, after all the years in prison, with a year since dragging the bars with him, that word didn't seem to encompass it. His goggles had kept fogging up.

Elliot kissed him, soft and sweet, perfect to stir Toby's cock. "I'm glad. Thanks for not breaking a leg or skiing into any trees."

"You were pretty clear about that being against the rules." Toby nuzzled Elliot's jaw. He was freshly shaved and he smelled great. Good enough to lick.

"Come on. You head up and shower, and I'll heat up dinner."

Toby pressed a little closer. He was starving, but he didn't think he wanted to wait that long to get Elliot moaning. "I might be too hungry to bother with dinner." They finally had the house to themselves, no more muffled hand jobs behind closed doors. Toby wanted to rub his cock all over him.

Elliot laughed, and gave a happy grunt as Toby ground against him. "You're going to have to wait. I cooked." Elliot guided him inside and pushed him up the stairs. Shower first.

Toby groaned as he forced his legs up the steps. He should think about getting a chair lift put in.

They'd packed into Elliot's car and a taxi to take the kids to the station this morning. Toby had been smiling watching Holly hug Elliot goodbye when he was taken by surprise by a hug from Kathleen. Elizabeth had given him a quick hug too, Dick had shaken his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Maureen had kissed his cheek, and thanked him for hosting. Toby had wanted to promise her he wouldn't hurt her father, but he couldn't say it knowing how much he already had.

Toby threw the water to hot and stripped off his clothes, left them in a pile on the floor. He'd hugged Olivia, too. He didn't know how to thank her for being around this weekend, but he was going to start with flowers. A really big bunch of flowers.

Harry and Holly had managed to tell each other, 'Seeya.' It was a Thanksgiving miracle.

Once everyone was on the train, it had been off to the airport with Harry. It felt like the first time Toby had ever parted with Harry on good terms. He'd asked, "You told Elliot you want to come for Christmas?"

"Can I?"

It had taken all Toby's self control to keep his, "Of course," casual.

"Will Dick and Liz and everyone be there?"

Toby had looked to Elliot, and Elliot said, "We'll see what we can do."

Toby climbed under the spray and couldn't fight the enormous sigh that rolled through his body. This shower was a great idea. He felt days - weeks - of stress swirling down the drain.

One big Christmas sounded perfect to him, but god knew how they'd coordinate custody with Jonah and Marta and Kathy with scheduling his own mother and Angus to get all his family in one place at once. Right now, it felt possible.

Toby spent way too long just standing under the spray, soaking the heat into long-neglected muscles in his aching legs and ass. And back. Toby rubbed his spine. He should have dragged Elliot up here, shown him all the places to rub, started building him up towards the promised fucking. Toby felt like he'd been hard ever since Elliot's offer, ass twitching with anticipation. Whenever he hadn't been revelling in the cool, crisp air, Toby had spent the day planning a long, leisurely day of naked tomorrow, thinking about where and how, riding the anticipation. He'd been dangerously close to rubbing himself off on the ski lift. He was dangerously close to rubbing himself off now, under the torrent of scalding water.

Even knowing Elliot was waiting, Toby had to force himself out of the hot shower. He towelled off and wandered into the bedroom and stopped. His best French blue shirt and a navy tie were laid out on the bed, his suit pants beside them, and in case the message wasn't clear, Elliot's writing on a yellow post-it told him to 'wear this'. Okay. Toby didn't even remember bringing these, but apparently he was wearing them tonight. This was why Elliot shaved?

This wasn't what he'd planned for tonight. There was nothing on the note about grooming, but Toby went back and gave himself a quick shave, then came out and dressed. Toby was more in a mood to stay in, scarf down a couple of turkey rolls and get on with taking clothes off, but if Elliot wanted to go out, Toby could wait. A full Windsor, and Toby found a pair of his father's cufflinks in the drawer. He clipped them on and rubbed a thumb over one, letting himself feel the pang. He wished his dad could meet Elliot, see Toby got something right eventually.

Toby got halfway down the stairs, and slowed to a stop. "All right..." This wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Now I know why you wanted me to wear the shirt and tie." Elliot had set a painfully formal table that would have won Toby's grandmother's nod of approval: white tablecloth, two settings of the good silverware and best china all perfectly aligned and facing across the table, cloth napkins, dimmed lights and candlesticks.

"Because you look good in that blue."

Elliot looked damned good himself, in a black shirt and grey thin-striped tie. Toby wondered, not for the first time, how a blue collar cop learned to dress himself so well.

"I was worried you'd think the note was stupid."

A little, but Elliot had more than earned the benefit of the doubt. "More like intriguing. Tell me you have a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling."

"Sparkling apple juice."

"Pity." The one flaw in the settings was that each place had only two glasses: one water, one juice.

Elliot came up a couple of steps and kissed him, just a brush of lips, and then a gentle nuzzle along Toby's sensitive jaw. "You look sexy."

"So do you." Toby slid his hands over Elliot's shirt, down his tie. He was aching and aroused and would have preferred to wolf down dinner in the kitchen and get straight to dessert. "What's all this for?"

Elliot shrugged. "Because we survived Thanksgiving."

"We did."

"And now we have the place to ourselves."

All the more reason to skip this, in Toby's mind.

"Because I like having you around. Because later tonight I want to pull off this tie and unbutton you slowly."

It seemed like a lot of effort for that. "You know I'm a sure thing, right?"

A frown skipped across his face. "I would never assume." Elliot took Toby's hand and led him to the table, pulled out his chair. 

Toby couldn't keep his eyebrows from creeping up, but he swallowed his smile. "What, no flowers?"

Elliot narrowed his eyes. "Nothing's in season." He poured apple juice for them both and brought out two small bowls of thick vegetable soup and a basket of warm rolls, and settled into his seat. All the way across the table.

Apparently this was going to be multiple courses. Toby tasted it. Potato base... carrot and celery, spiced with cumin and coriander. A little finely-chopped chilli. "This is delicious, El. Maybe you should cook more often."

"That would be a tragic waste of your talents." He sipped his own, and seemed satisfied with how it turned out. "Not bad for something mostly out of a tin. Did you call Holly?"

"I texted her."

"She's okay?"

Toby smiled. "She texted me back." He pulled out his phone and found the message, and slid it across the table. Partly because the sight of a phone on a dinner table like this would have appalled his grandmother. Partly because Elliot deserved to read it himself.

Elliot took the phone, stopped chewing, and swallowed. "I'm fine. Enjoy your dirty weekend with Elliot."

"Who do you think she got that from?"

He rubbed his face. "Kathleen."

"That was my guess. Your children are already corrupting mine."

"Didn't you tell me once you want Holly to turn your hair white? If anyone can teach her how to do that, it's Kathleen." Elliot passed the phone back, looking a little green.

"It's a seven hour train ride down to Grand Central. You know they were talking about us."

Elliot grabbed another roll. "I'd just really prefer it if our kids weren't talking about our sex life."

Being teased about their sex life sounded a hell of a lot better to Toby than being despised for his history. Poor, prudish Elliot. He never would have coped with all the glass walls of Em City.

Elliot changed the subject to skiing. Toby's soup was already almost gone, but Elliot was taking his time, putting his spoon down as he listened to Toby describe finding his ski-feet after all these years. He didn't seem to be in any kind of hurry at all.

Maybe he wasn't. Toby put his own spoon down. Maybe this was all a delaying tactic, Elliot regretting his declaration from Saturday morning. Toby wondered if there was a nice way to say Elliot didn't have to fuck him if he wasn't ready. Something formal, in keeping with the table. Toby was ready and willing if he was, but hadn't really expected it tonight anyway. He'd figured tonight would be fast and hungry, blow-jobs or good old-fashioned frottage, maybe a finger or two to build anticipation, and tomorrow would be a long, leisurely build up to Toby getting his ass plowed. Toby touched himself through his pants, caught his lip in his teeth as he imagined Elliot pressing his legs wide, maybe still in that shirt, unbuttoned so the black cotton framed the hair on his chest, tie hanging loose.

If Elliot wasn't so caught up in this ridiculous dinner, they could already be there.

Elliot lifted the bottle and refilled their glasses. It didn't help that Toby's drinking habit left them playing pretend with juice like a couple of girls having a tea party, with Toby as the wife. Elliot might be handling this better if he had half a bottle of champagne in him. Toby lifted his glass. "If I'd known I was going to be wined and dined like this, I would have worn a pretty dress for you."

Elliot went still, face turning to stone. "Don't say that."

Toby's skin crawled. "I didn't mean..." He'd just meant to make a dig about their date, not to remind Elliot about his dirty past.

"It isn't funny."

"Sorry."

Elliot settled back in his seat, hands clenched on the table.

That night was always going to linger deep in the back of Elliot's mind, waiting for Toby's big mouth to wrench it out into the light. Elliot had learned to live with the brand, but Toby would bet that queer red dress and the stink of other men's jizz didn't fade away so easily.

Toby tried not to pout. He didn't want to think about where he'd been, and he didn't want Elliot thinking about it either. He didn't want to go through some elaborate dinner ritual. He just wanted to get naked with Elliot, tease and touch and kiss him for hours, keep him in the here and now. He could feel Elliot's eyes on him, so he played with the stem of his glass and wished it held something worth drinking until Elliot stood and cleared their soup bowls.

Elliot's mouth was a sharp line as he brought out the main course, but he kept his voice gentle. "Leftover turkey was inevitable, but I found some ginger sauce to change it up."

There was fresh salad, too. He'd gone to real effort while Toby was out on the slopes today, and in return Toby had dragged his ugly past into the room, and then sulked about it. "Thank you for cooking, El. This looks delicious."

Elliot nodded, and pushed rocket around his plate. He didn't look like he was enjoying his food.

This crimp in the evening wasn't going away. "I'm sorry about the dress comment. I wasn't even thinking about when I used to..." He trailed off. Naming it would be even worse. "It was a half-assed joke."

"A joke about me treating you like a woman."

Toby squirmed. What was he supposed to say? This was the stuff he used to do to seduce Genevieve. It was the stuff Vern used to joke about.

"I'm not treating you like a woman, Toby. I'm treating you like someone I love. Tonight is supposed to be special."

"Isn't just being together special enough?" Toby cringed at how trite that sounded. He was planning to show Elliot how special he was when he was finally allowed to drag him up to bed.

"Not if you don't make it that way. If you just take it for granted, one day you look up and your wife's taken the kids and gone to live with her mother."

"I'm not-"

"I actually like this stuff, Toby. I like dressing nice and eating with a salad fork and candlelight. I like enjoying an evening without kids or the threat of being called out to a homicide. I like talking to you. I don't want to just bend you over a table tonight. I want some fucking romance. You're telling me I can't have that because you're a man?"

Toby swallowed. He felt like a total asshole. "I'm sorry I'm ruining it."

"You're not ruining it," Elliot growled.

"I think I've forgotten how to do this." Maybe Elliot had been treating Toby like Kathy, but that beat the hell out of what Toby was doing, treating Elliot like Chris, like it all came back to fucking. "Can we start over?"

"I don't have any more soup."

"So we'll jump straight to the main course. And this time I'll notice that you must have gone out shopping for the bread and salad before you did all this cooking. And I think you cleaned the house."

"I just tidied it a bit."

"Thank you Elliot."

Elliot nodded. "I'm going to do it right, this time. I'm going to remember this stuff. I'm going to work out my anger. I'm going to talk to you about my job."

Toby blinked. "You've decided to stick with SVU?"

"I think so. I have to help people." He ran his tongue over his lip. "I don't think I'd like myself if I didn't."

There was a real danger that was true. Hard as the weight of SVU could be, Toby couldn't imagine Elliot surviving a job without purpose. "Can you handle it better this time around?"

"I think I can do it, if you can handle hearing about it."

"I can handle it."

"Okay." The way he said it sounded final, like that was the decision made, right there.

Toby wanted to reach over and squeeze his hand, but he was on the other side of the damned table, and Toby wasn't going to whine about that any longer. So instead he tried a smile, relieved when Elliot managed one in return. "How was your day?"

"Peaceful. It's a nice little town." They finally got back to eating. Somehow between cooking dinner and tidying up the house Elliot had managed to take a walk along the lake front and explore the town. Toby pushed him for details until the tension faded. It was fun piecing together his observations with Toby's old memories, until they realised Elliot had stumbled across a wedding at the park where Toby's dad used to take him and Angus fishing. "It reminded me. I never asked you what happened with that friend's wedding."

"What wedding?" Toby hadn't been to a wedding in a very long time.

"The one your mother wants you to go to."

Oh, god. Patricia's wedding. "I'm going, of course. Unless I can clear parole to escape the country." It would be wall-to-wall with people Toby hadn't seen since he was a high-flying alcoholic lawyer. Drinking buddies who vanished the moment Toby had his rights read, colleagues who encouraged him to chase the acquittal that offended Judge Lema, loyal friends whose calls and letters he'd ignored in shame.

"Did you..." Elliot shifted in his seat. "...want me to come?"

Toby paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Do you want to come?"

"If you wanted me there, I think I could do it."

Toby sat back, surprised. He hadn't expected that. "But you don't actually want to, do you?"

"I don't know." He looked like he meant that, at least. "I think, if it was tomorrow, I don't know if I could do that. But May's six months off. Last May I hadn't thought much past touching you, and look where we are now."

"So you do want to."

Elliot looked irritated, though it seemed to be with himself, more than Toby. "I don't know. I'm not exactly chafing to tell Munch or Finn about my private life, but give me some time and I might be okay with your friends, if that's what you want. I want to have your back. I don't want to make things harder for you." He shrugged. "What do you want?"

"I don't know either." Toby was surprised Elliot would even consider it. Did Toby want to show up to Patricia's wedding, back from prison with a big gay date? Just pile all the scandal on at once? "Why don't we wait until I get an invitation before we start worrying about this?"

Elliot gave a rueful smile. "Sounds good to me. I just wanted you to know you can ask."

"All right." Toby found himself staring at Elliot. He definitely hadn't expected that.

Elliot looked up from his turkey, smiled when he caught Toby watching. "You really haven't seen any of your old friends since you got out?"

"My family's expectations have been enough to deal with."

"You're worried they'll judge you?"

Toby knew they'd already judged him. "Maybe I just don't want to find out who they think I am."

"You don't need to be ashamed of who you are."

Toby snorted, and Elliot went back to frowning. They fell quiet, enjoying the food, but Toby could see something was still on Elliot's mind. Toby wished he could tell him to stop obsessing over what people thought, but it seemed like telling water not to be wet.

Elliot pushed his salad around his plate until Toby was ready to prod him, and suddenly said, "Did you mean what you said before?"

About Elliot coming to the wedding? About his old friends? "You'll have to be more specific."

Elliot worked his jaw like he was chewing out his words, wouldn't meet Toby's eyes. "Do you wish you wore a dress tonight?"

Toby gritted his teeth. He'd already apologised. Why did Elliot have to bring it up again? "Would you want me to?"

"No." His voice was flat, not taking the bait.

"Then it doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

"What if I did? Would you pretend you were okay with it?" Toby didn't know why he was pushing it. He didn't wish for one second that Elliot would see him like that. He wished Elliot never had. "If I said I wanted to go change into a slinky little dress, you'd be okay with that?"

Elliot couldn't hide his shudder. "I'd... I'd deal with it. I learned to be okay with you having a cock, didn't I?" He cringed, clearly not liking how that came out. "If you... If you've got some sort of... If you like that, I don't want it to be some shameful secret you keep from me. I wouldn't think less of you for it. I wouldn't like it, but I'd... I'd figure it out." He stared at his finger, tracing the edge of the plate. "I don't ever want to make you feel ashamed."

"Fuck, Elliot." Toby felt like he'd been hollowed out. "I've got all the shame I need. You don't add to it. You make me forget that shit." Elliot still wouldn't meet his eyes. "No. I don't want to wear a dress. I told you I did it to humiliate myself."

"I know. It's just... This, us, was pretty fragile the last time we talked about it. We were barely... We're solid now. At least, this feels solid." He finally looked up, looking way too vulnerable for Elliot Stabler. "If you were afraid to tell me something before, maybe you can trust me now."

There was a whole world of things Toby couldn't tell Elliot, but that wasn't one of them.

Toby was silent, so Elliot plunged on. "When I saw you outside Franco's, I wasn't disgusted by the dress. That's not what... I hardly even saw it. I was disgusted by what you'd let those men do to you."

So much for never making Toby feel ashamed. "The dress was how I let them. I don't ever want to do it again."

Elliot held his gaze. "You deserve better. You deserve to be wined and dined by someone who loves you." A tiny smile. "And you look a hell of a lot sexier filling out an over-priced designer shirt and tie."

Toby seized on the subject change. "Are you suggesting I'm a clothes horse?"

"If the four hundred dollar shirt fits..."

"I may shop from the higher end but judging by the turnover I've always assumed your walk-in-closet's bigger than my apartment."

"My job is hard on the wardrobe."

"So it's got nothing to do with knowing how pretty you look in a suit."

Elliot made an innocent face and ran a hand down the tie that was accenting his broad chest. They smiled, and there was more than a little relief in it for both of them.

Elliot took a bite of turkey and screwed up his nose. "This is cold. Let me heat these plates up."

He came around the table, close enough for Toby to catch his tie and tug him down into a kiss. "Thank you for dinner."

"My pleasure. Thank you for Thanksgiving." He collected Toby's plate and headed to the kitchen.

Toby was desperately grateful to have left the dress-talk behind, but he wondered how Elliot would cope if Toby told him he did want to wear one. Here I am, Elliot. Rape victim and prag. Want to fuck? Toby wasn't ever going to give him a chance to find out.

Elliot brought out the plates and this time they got on with eating. Toby waited until it was half-gone before he said, "Since we're talking about dirty secrets..."

Elliot lifted his head, wary all over again.

"Lizzie was bubbling about your mother coming to see her play. You've never mentioned her. I thought..." He'd thought she was dead, like Elliot's father.

Elliot shrugged, defensive. "She's a good grandmother."

"Not such a great mother?"

No more than a slight tip of the head to confirm. "I'm glad I never had to trust her to hold my family together, the way your mother did."

Toby nodded. He knew how much his mother had done for him, but he was happy to be reminded. "Tell me about her sometime. Not tonight."

Elliot nodded, the tension rushing out of his shoulders. "I can do that."


	63. Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, in chapter 62, Golden:  
> Elliot woke to find the universe was chasing up Holly's toboggan accident trauma with a storm. Luckily, Elliot knew the solution to this problem: Golden Girls and hot chocolate. All the family ended up shuffling downstairs for the midnight party, and it was lovely.  
> After sending the kids home, Toby went skiing. He came home expecting sex, and was disappointed to be served a formal dinner. More so, with Elliot looking super-sexy in his shirt and tie. Dinner table conversation topics (sooo much conversation) included but were not limited to: whether Elliot was feminising Toby with his romance, whether Elliot could handle Toby in drag if Toby wanted to which he didn't, Elliot's return to SVU, a potential date to a wedding in May, and that Elliot, in fact, has a mother.
> 
>  
> 
> This is the end, foiks.
> 
> A huge extra thank you to barbana and haru, for delicious art along the way. 
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm just going to leave this up here to start the story off right.)  
>  _Sketch a gift from the wonderful Haru_  
> 

At last, they left behind dressing up and coming out and thank god, Elliot's mother. Maybe Toby still thought the candles and formal settings were silly, but he kept it to himself, and dinner finally settled into the easy conversation Elliot had hoped for. College pranks versus the training academy, more of Toby's Vermont memories. This was what Elliot had been craving tonight: Toby with the pressure off, relaxed and witty, the simmering heat of sex filling the space between them. He loved the way Toby glowed as he described skiing down the black runs this morning. It made Elliot want to find a thousand subtle ways to make Toby feel like that all over again.

Now Elliot could get back to his real plan for the evening: enjoying Toby's company and savouring the anticipation. While he'd been shopping and cooking, all Elliot could think about was tonight. He'd gotten hard walking down the pharmacy aisle at the grocery store, thinking about nudging Toby's tie aside and popping the buttons one at a time on that four hundred dollar blue shirt, pressing his face to the skin beneath. The old Greek woman at the bakery had asked him if the cake was for a celebration, and some adolescent part of his brain had thought, yeah, I'm going to have a go at anal sex tonight.

He hadn't been this nervous about sex since... Since the first time he sucked Toby's cock, anyway. That had worked out more than fine. He could have done without Toby's reminder of darker days, that wrench back to seeing Toby hunched on his couch, bruised and bloody from being used. That was what the notion of Toby in a dress evoked in Elliot's mind. Nothing feminine or gentle or proud or sexy. Thank god that wasn't what Toby wanted from him. And thank god work was about as far away as it could be.

Elliot had some butterflies doing loops in his stomach, but when he thought about how good Toby's tongue felt pressed inside him, he was willing to try. Elliot had to trust Toby wouldn't let Elliot hurt him.

Toby's eyes crinkled as he laughed again. He slid his knife and fork together and sat back, hands on his stomach. "Dinner was great. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was a strange hesitation. "I really appreciate it..."

Elliot held his breath. "But?"

Toby delicately licked his lips, and it was no accident at all. "Would you mind if we skipped dessert? I've been thinking about getting your clothes off since I got home. Since... Actually, pretty much all day. I was skiing the slopes all morning with a hard-on."

Elliot felt the smile spread across his face. His own cock twitched in favour. "Yeah. We can postpone dessert. I cheated, anyway. I was going to cook something, but the bakery had a layered chocolate mousse cake and it looked-"

"Chocolate mousse cake?" Toby leaned forward like he might climb over the table, eyes wide. "From the little bakery in the middle of the strip mall on Parker Street?"

"Yeah. Run by a little old Greek couple."

"It's still there? I loved that cake." He sat back. "Sex can wait."

Elliot almost laughed, until he realised Toby had a straight face. "Really?"

"Have you tasted it? Elliot, I used to dream about their chocolate mousse cake." He pushed his chair back. "We're eating dessert. But we're eating it on the couch, because I don't want to spend another hour staring at you from all the way over here."

Elliot took an extra couple of seconds to stand, while Toby loaded himself up for the trip to the kitchen. He really was serious. Elliot wasn't sure if he was insulted or pleased. He stood as well, piling plates in his arms. "This isn't going to be some sex-food thing, is it? I draw the line at smearing cake all over you."

"No, I'm good with eating it out of a bowl."

All right, then. Curling up with his feet pressed in Toby's lap sounded pretty good to Elliot. He could find out how long it would take to distract Toby from food.

They bussed the table together, Toby pausing in the kitchen to crack open the cake box with a glazed expression something like what Elliot had been planning to put on his face tonight. Elliot pressed up against him. "Is it tragic of me to be jealous of a cake?"

Toby smiled and turned in his arm until their half-hard cocks rubbed, making them both groan. "Tell me after you've tasted the cake."

Elliot kissed him and then nudged him back towards the pile of dirty dishes before they forgot what they were doing. Elliot boxed up leftovers while Toby distributed dishes between the sink and the dishwasher, somehow ending up in the same places constantly. Elliot could feel Toby's smile as they brushed past again.

Elliot closed the fridge and enjoyed the view of Toby bent over the bottom drawer of the dishwasher, firm round ass hugged by soft suit pants. He wondered if it would be too much to step up behind him and slide his cock up the valley between.

Toby grunted and braced himself against the counter as he straightened. "My ass is killing me." He rubbed it, and Elliot was pretty sure it was completely unselfconscious.

Elliot reached down to shut the dishwasher door and gathered Toby close, slid his own hands down to grab each cheek in a handful. "Show me where the knots are."

Toby's head fell forward on his shoulder. "Right there."

Elliot bunched his hands and rubbed, felt Toby give over completely with a groan. He reached a little lower and dug his fingers into Toby's hard thighs, cock filling at the sound Toby made. "How about there?"

"Yeah." A couple of minutes and Toby whispered, "Higher," so Elliot slid his hands up over those delicious buttocks to the bottom of his back, tracing lines just below his belt. Maybe it was time to take that off. "Lower." Back to Toby's ass, digging into his cheeks until Toby whispered, "In between."

Elliot took a sharp breath, nervy and aroused. He slid his fingers up the seam of Toby's pants. "You want me in here, Toby?"

"You have no idea."

Elliot buried his other hand in Toby's hair and used it to lift Toby's head into a kiss, wet and deep and hungry, his fingers playing up and down Toby's crack as Toby humped against him, but they couldn't get any deeper with pants in the way.

Toby finally started pushing Elliot towards the living room, turning them around and undoing Elliot's tie at the same time he pulled him by it. "Right here."

Elliot backed him towards the stairs instead. "In bed." Toby resisted until Elliot growled in his ear, "I'm going to fuck you in bed, like we're civilised men." Just as Elliot predicted, it only took a little dirty talk to have his way.

Toby led the way up the stairs, undoing his belt as he went, and Elliot had a perfect view of his swinging ass. Toby put a foot on the landing and on a random whim Elliot caught his hips and held him and leaned in to bite the bottom of his cheek and Toby's head fell back with a "Fuck, El."

And then Elliot brushed his thumbs over like he was spreading him, leaned in once more and grazed his teeth right down the seam between, close enough to feel Toby's legs tremble. He climbed up behind him and crowded him along the hall, reaching around to pop the fly and slide the zip, turning Toby around as they went through the door, pushing him back to fall on the bed.

Toby lay sprawled and flushed, hair messed, tie crooked, thick pink cock rising out of his open pants.

"No underwear, Toby?"

"Seemed like a waste of time, until I realised my pants are going to have to be dry cleaned now. I've been painting trails inside." His smile was wicked.

Elliot stood in front of Toby and slid his tie out of his collar and dropped it on the floor. Started tugging his shirt out of his pants.

Toby undid his cufflinks and carefully laid them on the bedside table, eyes never leaving Elliot's slow strip. "Whose idea was it to wear so many clothes?"

"Mine. So all through dinner I could fantasise about taking them off one piece at a time." He slid off his shirt and sent it after his tie.

"One piece at a time is too fucking slow." Toby lifted his feet to yank off both his socks at once.

Elliot didn't think so. "We have days to ourselves."

"If you make me wait days to feel your cock in my ass I'll kill you."

Days was an exaggeration but Elliot was going to take his time tonight. He went to his knees at the side of the bed and nuzzled his face against Toby's cock, tugging his pants wide and burying his nose in the tangle of hair where he smelled best. He dragged his pants down his thighs so he could rub his freshly-shaved jaw over Toby's delicate balls, feel them rolling in their furry sac. Toby was arching, searching for his mouth but Elliot kept his lips to himself. He was covering himself in the scent of Toby's sex, wildly turned on by the damp streak Toby's cock drew along his cheek.

He dragged the pants down and off and lumbered up, pushing Toby's dress shirt up to his throat and pressing his face to his abdomen, all the muscles bunching under his cheek as Elliot dragged his body up Toby's, letting his furred chest catch in Toby's bush, tickle his sensitive cock.

Toby was busy scrambling at his shirt buttons, clearing a path for Elliot to kiss his way up his chest. Toby's cock dug into Elliot's stomach as Elliot found a tight, sharp nipple, giving it all the tongue and teeth and suction Toby had wanted below. Toby was writhing and begging, and Elliot was drunk on the power of this one tiny spot. Toby's legs had spread to wrap around him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, and Elliot's own cock was pressing air and he was suddenly acutely aware of how close he was to where he was going. A few inches higher and Elliot was close enough to meet Toby's lips, and he only had to curl his hips and the bulge of his cock was pressing up against Toby's balls, and it wanted inside. The thought of it made Elliot's own balls ache with some primal urge to empty himself as deep as he could, to leave a piece of himself inside Toby.

"Please, El." Elliot's desire was dwarfed by the need in Toby's eyes.

Toby really wanted this. Elliot pulled away and tugged open his belt, dropped everything in one go as Toby tossed aside his tie and shirt. He was fucking beautiful. The muscular chest, the flat belly, the hard cock and hanging balls, every hair and scar.

Toby played with his erection, pinched the head and gave it a few loose strokes, impatient. It looked almost painful, iron-hard and flushed red. Elliot was turned on but the thread of worry still held him back. He was tumbling between years of ugliness and Toby's shameless hunger. Toby wasn't delicate, but that didn't mean Elliot was willing to treat him like something rough. He had to make this everything Toby wanted. He had to last.

"Roll over for me."

Toby flipped over without hesitation, and Elliot crawled onto the bed, kneeling astride Toby's knees. He ran his hands over Toby's ass, careful not to avoid or press the swastika Vern had left behind. This was the first time Toby had ever let him see it so close, all rough edges from slow, brutal work. Elliot spread Toby's cheeks, his first good look at the hair trailing up his crack and licked him before Toby could feel his hesitation. Toby bucked up against his face. 

Toby had pushed past the branding; Elliot could too.

When Toby licked Elliot's ass it was the opposite of degrading. It was worship. That's what Elliot was going to give Toby tonight. Toby was going to feel something of how Elliot felt inside, of this achingly protective tenderness.

Elliot ran his hands over Toby's ass again, squeezed it and followed all the way down Toby's thighs. "Still aching from all that skiing?"

"Yeah."

So Elliot took a little lube as a substitute for oil and spread it over Toby's lower back and legs. He didn't need to ask if Toby would want a heavy touch; he just dug into the muscles until Toby groaned, pausing every now and then to part his cheeks and lick at his hairy asshole. It was so tight, Elliot couldn't imagine how his cock would get inside, let alone feel good, but he was going to block out everything else tonight and trust Toby. He went back to squeezing his thighs, loving the squirms and sighs as he searched out the knots and loosened them, and then he dipped back in and did the same with his tongue.

Elliot rubbed his face against Toby's slicked ass cheek and Toby's whole body shuddered. It was the rough of his jaw. Elliot rubbed his whole face against him, wanted to laugh at the joyful reaction he got. He'd have to try this some day when he hadn't shaved.

Toby was saying his name, over and over again. "Yes, El," and "God, El," and "Love you, El," and Elliot could hear between the words that he wanted to ask for more but wasn't going to push so Elliot put a thumb to his ass and rubbed, felt Toby's entire body sink in pleasure. Elliot wanted to hear him talk, say all the things he was holding back, loosen that potty mouth to say things that would send all Elliot's blood to his cock and his cheeks, so he said, "You want me in here, Toby?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"You want to hear it, El?"

"Yeah."

"Get your fingers inside me and I'll tell you."

Elliot took plenty of lube and covered his fingers, circled a couple and pressed but there was no give. He didn't want to hurt him.

"Do it."

"You're sure?" It didn't feel like he could.

"Please."

A little harder and suddenly they sank into his body, and Toby's moan was unearthly. Elliot thought he'd done something wrong but he looked closer at Toby's face, pushed sideways against the pillow. Bliss. He was so hot inside, and the clamp on Elliot's fingers... He couldn't fit his cock in here without hurting him.

"El... Think about you all the time. You don't know how much I want you. Want this. Want to feel you so close to me, so deep. Don't stop. Don't stop."

Elliot realised he'd stopped to listen and his fingers jerked deeper than he meant to but Toby only gave another one of those moans. "Love you, Toby."

"Love you."

Elliot worked Toby's ass loose to a chorus of love and praise, watching his shining fingers disappear with fascination until Toby begged him for more.

"Promise you'll tell me if it's uncomfortable."

"Do it. Want that thick cock of yours to stretch me open."

Not yet. Elliot carefully tucked a third finger inside, watched Toby's ass give easily to the extra invasion, finally started to believe this might not have to hurt.

Toby bit his lip and whimpered as Elliot pushed in and out and twisted. He wanted to be sure Toby was ready.

"Your cock, El. Your cock."

All right. Elliot let his fingers slip out, wiped them on the cloth he'd left on the nightstand earlier. "Can we... Is it comfortable if you lie on your back?" Elliot wanted to be staring at Toby's face, not that fucking brand.

"Fuck, yes." Toby was rolling over as he said it, hands on his shins pulling his knees to his chest, shameless. And then reaching for Elliot, pulling him by his neck until he could shove his tongue in Elliot's mouth, sloppy and wet, then whispering in his ear, "Fill me up."

Harder to be nervous when Toby was this eager, but not impossible. Elliot shoved away all the forensic reports that threatened to creep in and wrapped a hand around his cock and lined himself up, unsure of the angle he was going for, unsure how hard he should press.

"You're not going to do it wrong, Elliot. Just push."

"You're sure?"

"Please. Please."

So Elliot pushed, and then he pushed harder and Toby's ass gave way, swallowing the head of his cock in one gulp.

"Wait!"

Shit. "Am I hurting you?"

Toby didn't answer right away and Elliot started to pull back but Toby grabbed his hip. "No. Not hurting. Just want to feel you."

"Is it good for you?" Elliot prayed it was good because he didn't want to move. The clamp of Toby's ass felt sensational.

"Yes. Fuck. Yes." Toby's eyes were closed and he wasn't moving except for the heave of his chest, like he'd just run a mile. He opened his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Elliot's voice was hoarse.

Toby smiled, like he knew how much that 'yeah' was understating it. 

"Are you sure..."

"Been a while." Toby tightened on him and Elliot gasped, and Toby grinned. Squeezed again, pulling Elliot way closer to coming, and his own face relaxed in pleasure.

"I don't think I'm going to last long."

"Don't come."

"I don't think I can-"

Toby pinched his nipple hard.

"Ow! What?" That took care of the danger. Ow.

"I didn't wait all these months for a two minute fuck." Toby smiled, mischievous. "Need me to pinch you again?"

"No, that did the trick."

"Go on. Nice and slow. Want you to feel every inch."

Elliot could do slow. A little further in, a little less out. A little more in, feeling that sharp pressure creep down his cock as Toby frowned and sighed like it was everything he wanted, slow, slow, until Elliot was all the way, balls-deep in Toby, and it was... sacred. He could feel himself sliding deeper in love, like he was rolling down a huge hill, out of control, picking up speed. He looked Toby in the eye. "This was what you were talking about."

A smile spread slowly across Toby's face. He tugged Elliot closer and kissed him, nothing but soft, brushing lips. "I'm so full of you right now. Got you deep inside me."

Yes. That was just how it was.

They stayed right there for a minute, feeling it, sharing small kisses while Elliot's blood pumped all the way inside Toby's body, and then Toby's hand spread across Elliot's cheek. "Fuck me, El. However you want, it's going to be good for me. Fast, slow, deep, shallow, I'm going to love it."

Elliot pulled almost all the way out, savouring the grip of Toby's body, and then pushed steadily all the way in, watching Toby's face contort in pleasure. This was good. Out and in, taking his time, not wanting to miss a single detail of the way Toby's body clenched around his cock, a single shift of Toby's fingers clutching his back, any small hitch in his breath.

"Is this okay?" Elliot could see that it was, pushed in again as he asked, but asking was a compulsion.

"It's perfect."

In again, grinding his hips to get deeper. "Sorry I keep asking."

"Don't be sorry. I love that you ask."

Elliot was propping himself up, wanting to see all of it: Toby's face, Toby's body, his own cock dipping inside. Wishing he had four extra hands to touch him with.

"Wait a moment." Toby pushed him back until Elliot slid out. "Try this." A little awkward manoeuvring until Elliot was on his knees and Toby's feet were on Elliot's shoulders, his own knees bent and spread and now Elliot could see everything, the whole sexy, masculine package. He put his cock to Toby's ass and pushed back in, so much deeper this way, and Toby's face screwed up like Elliot was rearranging stuff inside him.

"Is this good?"

"Better than good. Love your cock, baby."

"Say my name."

Toby opened his eyes. "Elliot. You don't even know how good your cock feels. All the way up here, El." Toby rubbed his stomach, and Elliot realised that was where he was, the head of his cock somewhere under Toby's hand. Elliot slid his own hand beneath and thrust again, fancied he could feel himself inside, though it was probably Toby's muscles tensing against him. That was hot, too. Elliot left his hand there and started slow, but Toby's encouraging moans and dirty words were all he needed to know he could pick up the pace, and soon he was drilling Toby hard and steady, feeling Toby's belly shift under his hand, watching his own cock disappear into that tight, tender place. It seemed to be grasping for him, as greedy as Toby had promised.

Elliot let the last of his worries go and enjoyed it, loved it, the base pleasure of pushing his cock somewhere tight, the incredible beauty of Toby's hard, sweating body, the lust in his begging and moans, the love in his eyes. He pushed Toby's legs aside so he could press against him, feel Toby's whole body lifting to meet him, so Toby's arms and legs could wrap around him and drag him deeper, closer, their sweating bodies sliding against each other.

Toby whispered, "Love you," and kissed him, messy and wet, fingers clutching Elliot's damp back and digging into his ass. Elliot pushed and Toby let out a breathy little whimper that curled Elliot's toes. "Just there baby, yes." So Elliot worked right there, trying angles until he had Toby crying out on every thrust, desperate sounds like nothing Elliot had pulled out of him before.

Elliot could hardly think past the heat on his cock, the weight in his balls, that ancient need to spill himself deep inside Toby's body, a caveman desire that didn't seem to mind if this was a woman or man. "Gonna fill you up, Toby." The words came out as a growl. "Gonna come deep inside you. Is that what you want?"

"Please."

Toby had never been so beautiful as he was right now, bouncing under Elliot's thrusts, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open, hair dark with sweat. Until his eyes suddenly screwed shut and he groaned long and so damned loud, all the warning Elliot had before his ass locked down on Elliot's cock, unbelievable pressure bordering on pain but Elliot couldn't stop digging deeper, fighting for more of that groan. The moment Toby released him Elliot's body surged, balls lifting high, the moan wrenched from his toes as he shot pulse after pulse deep inside Toby's body.

He stayed there, locked in place, breathless, until his soft cock slipped free. He slowly subsided, and lay like a rag on Toby's chest, panting, feeling Toby panting under him. He was sure he was too heavy but he wasn't moving until Toby made him. He wanted to kiss that salty shoulder, but it was two inches away, and that was too far. "God."

Toby's breath rushed out, and his body shook beneath Elliot's with silent laughter. "Yeah."

That was so far from what he'd been afraid of.

Maybe he could even...his guts twisted, but he wriggled off Toby's back and pushed him onto his side, pulling him close again so their sweaty legs tangled, and their noses almost touched. There was something like peace in Toby's eyes. Even though it scared the hell out of him, Elliot wondered whether what they'd just done could do the same for him. More than that, he couldn't be the kind of prick in bed that would take what he couldn't give. "If you want..." Elliot froze up and paused, struggling to push himself to find some phrasing that he could make himself say out loud.

"Even if you asked, I wouldn't give it to you yet."

The pin-prick of disappointment was a surprise. "Why?"

Toby ran a finger along his arm. "You're curious, but you're not ready. If I ever fuck you-" Elliot knew he used the word just to make Elliot's ass clench, and he succeeded, "-it's not going to be for me, because you want to prove something. It's not going to be a decision, some analytical calculation or summoning of courage. It's going to be all about you. It's going to be you, greedy, needy and desperately begging for me to fill you up, barely caring what I want out of it. It's going to be your legs spread wide and your hands dragging me closer and you're not even thinking about coming; you'll just want me to crawl so deep inside you there'll always be something left behind in there."

"Fuck, Toby."

Toby reached down to grope him, just to prove he had Elliot stirring again. "There's no rush. One day you're going to give it to me, but I hope it takes months to get you there. I don't mind if the anticipation builds for years."

Elliot enjoyed a few light caresses and then pushed his hand away. "You're not going to get me anywhere tonight." But maybe he would, after months of sex like this. Elliot couldn't see himself begging like Toby described, but he could imagine asking for it. Eventually. At least now he was curious about how it had felt for Toby, if it was like Toby just described. He was damned glad no one was in a rush.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Toby closed his eyes, smiling. Elliot was sexy as hell when he got all shy like that, and it was all the better watching that first tentative wavering. Elliot was going to let Toby fuck his ass one day, and Toby just might wear his own cock out planning for it.

In the meantime, Elliot could fuck him like that as often as he wanted.

Toby purred when Elliot shifted and a damp cloth wiped over him, cleaning away the spunk and sweat. Elliot had prepared for this like some kind of dirty boy scout. Elliot rolled him over onto his front and Toby let himself sprawl, groaning at the broad wet strokes from his back to his thighs. The towel dipped gently between Toby's cheeks, and he barely caught his hiss.

He knew Elliot tensed behind him anyway. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. You were fantastic."

Elliot climbed off the bed, and a moment later a pile of clothes landed on Toby's back. He pressed up on his elbows, looking around to find Elliot was half-dressed already - skipping his briefs - and Toby was lying between sweatpants and couple of sweaters.

"Elliot, where are you going?"

"Get dressed."

That sounded like a terrible idea, but Toby swung his legs around to sit up, and dragged on the t-shirt Elliot had given him. "Where are we going?" Pants - no boxers - sweaters, socks.

"To get dessert."

Toby was moving under his own steam, but barely. He'd forgotten what it was like, to feel this well-fucked. "I could have waited in that comfortable, warm bed while you fetched it for me. That would have been romantic."

Elliot kissed him, and pushed him towards the stairs. "I'm going to teach you about romance." Elliot was irresistible like this, but Toby really wouldn't have minded putting off cake in favour of staying naked and drowsy and wrapped in Elliot's heat, savouring the aftermath. Thinking about the way Elliot's eyes widened as he sank inside Toby's body. God, that moan as he pushed in. The growing confidence from tentative rocking to driving his cock home. Fucking Elliot was a long term project, but he wasn't going to have any trouble getting Elliot to fuck him again.

"Anyway," said Elliot, "we're going to have to change those sheets."

That was true. And besides, cake. And now they were up, so... Toby led the way to the stairs, catching his breath on the first step down at the burn in his ass and trying to hide it, but Elliot jerked him to a stop with a yank on the neck of his sweater.

"Did you see this?" Elliot was staring at the family pictures hung beside the stairs.

Toby climbed back up. A new picture was sticky-taped to the wall at the top of the series, beside Angus's youngest's: a lumpy Toby with Harry beside him. The yellow-haired Holly was unusually short, but she was there. A tall grey-haired couple stood beside Harry.

Toby swallowed, and an arm slid around him. "I never even asked him to do it."

"I'm guessing it was Holly's idea," Elliot said gently, pointing down.

Toby couldn't answer. A piece of paper had been taped over the front of Holly's old family picture. It was her careful style, good enough that a stranger would have recognised Toby and Holly in the centre of the couch, curled up together. Elliot was on the other side, an arm around Toby, and Harry sat on the floor in front of them. The three girls and boy sitting around them were rougher, but it wasn't difficult to guess. Even Olivia, off to the side. Most of the people in the picture had steaming mugs in their hands. Elliot pulled Toby close and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "It really is the Brady Bunch." There were windows behind them, one with a lightning bolt streaking through like an afterthought. And now he looked, at the edge of her picture was the start of the stairs, just enough to catch the first drawing on the wall: not a family, just a smiling eight year-old boy.

Toby looked up at Harry's, realised what was missing from both. "The last time Gen visited me in prison, she told me Holly had drawn a picture of the family, and I wasn't in it."

He felt Elliot's stare. "Why would she tell you that?"

Toby shrugged. Because that's what she thought he deserved, but he'd been drowning in so much hate in Oz, he hadn't recognised her tepid contempt. Now she was the one forgotten, and he couldn't help the tiniest thrill of revenge. Mostly, though, he just felt sad for her. She'd given all this up.

Elliot's arm slid around his shoulders, and nudged him on. "Let's get some cake."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elliot trailed after Toby. Genevieve must have hated him, to tell him something like that when he was already so far from his kids. Elliot couldn't imagine Toby not being the centre of Holly's life, had somehow assumed she'd spent all those prison years focused on him the way she was now. He remembered, Toby said he hadn't seen his kids at all for the first year, or maybe it was two. Two years was a long time for kids as young as that.

As soon as they got to the kitchen Toby flipped open the cake box and drooled over it while Elliot pulled out bowls and forks, preening a little. He'd scored major points with the cake. 

He touched Toby's hair to guide him out of the way, but somehow it became turning Toby around and kissing him, delicate kisses, like he couldn't go soft enough or slow enough to tell Toby how he felt. He felt like he... believed in Toby, in a way he hadn't before. The way Toby had looked at him as Elliot worked his way inside... Elliot never needed to be afraid he wasn't enough for him. 

Toby's eyes were gentle as they parted. He stared at Elliot's mouth as he chewed his lip. "Give me my cake."

Elliot smiled. He cut two huge slices and loaded them into the bowls, and snatched them away as Toby reached for one. "We're going to eat these outside."

Toby stared. "Elliot, it's freezing out there."

"So rug up. We're going outside." He kept possession of the bowls and led the way to the front door.

Toby was trailing after him, waiting for a punch line. Elliot put the bowls on the entrance table and passed him a coat and scarf, and then jammed his father's fur flying hat over his head. Toby shot him a look, but Elliot pretended not to notice as he wound a scarf around his own neck, wrapping his coat around it and digging his woollen cap out of the pocket. Toby stared at the cake like a dog denied scraps.

Elliot reached for the door handle. "You ready?"

"You're certifiable."

"I'm romantic."

"I'm an old-fashioned guy. You can woo me by taking my clothes off."

Toby had no idea how cute his pouting was. "I didn't do an eight-year degree in masturbation. I need some recuperation time after sex like that."

Elliot cradled the cake in his arm as he pressed Toby out the door. The cold was like a slap in the face after the warm house, damp and still but ice slithered into all the crevices where Elliot hadn't tied his scarf tight enough, or pulled his socks high. He yanked the door shut to keep the heat in.

Toby looked back at him, eyes pools of black in the gloom. "The switch for the front light is just inside the door."

"Don't need it." The streetlight a couple of houses down was enough that they wouldn't fall on their faces. Elliot linked his free elbow through Toby's and led him to the edge of the porch and down two steps, feeling Toby's scepticism the whole time. 

"You made sure the dor was unlocked, right?"

"I did."

"If we try to get back in two minutes from now and we're locked-"

"Look up."

A withering gaze at Elliot, and then Toby looked up. "Oh." Elliot saw the breath rush out of him, the same way it had rushed out of Elliot when he stepped out to make a phone call the other night. He forgot, living in the city, that the stars could look so unbelievably crisp. The Milky Way was splashed across pure black, the sky so crowded with light that Elliot could barely pick out the constellations. There was Corona Borealis. And Bootes, with Arcturus standing out against the rest.

Even so, it was Toby that had Elliot's attention, his mouth open, his eyes shining in the starlight. It was better than Elliot had hoped. "I wasn't sure if you'd been out of the city since you got out."

Toby shook his head, eyes tracking across the sky.

"There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight."

Toby finally looked down, scoping out the steps and then sitting with a hiss. 

Bile rose in Elliot's throat. "I did hurt you."

"I went skiing this morning, remember?" 

Of course. Thank god.

Toby stretched out his legs, one at a time with an exaggerated groan for each. "You know how good it feels when you push your muscles like that."

"Yeah." Elliot quietly loved the aftermath of a good workout. Feeling the twinge every time he reached or bent the wrong way, cursing his age and then doing it again just to savour the ache.

Toby reached up and tugged Elliot's hand, bringing him around to sit on the cold step below him, between his knees. He leaned against Elliot's back to breathe in his ear, "Same with fucking. You just gave my asshole an incredible workout. I can feel where you've been."

Elliot snorted.

"I love it. I keep squirming to feel it more." Toby wriggled against him, with another happy groan. "Now give me my cake."

The grumpy voice made Elliot smile. He could live with that description. The arm that reached over his shoulder to pull him back into the cradle of Toby's body made him smile more. He relaxed against him, let Toby hold his weight and stared up at the endless sky as he passed back the bowl. Toby wedged it against his neck. Fine by Elliot if it meant that arm was free to stay wrapped over his chest. There were thick layers of pullovers and scarves and coats between them, but Elliot could swear he felt the heat of Toby's skin against his back, the muscles of Toby's thighs under his ribs. He felt the crisp cold air against his nose and ears but the rest of him was warm. Elliot draped an arm over Toby's leg, rested his bowl on Toby's knee, and finally cracked his fork through the chocolate shell to the layers of mousse and rich dark cake. He took a bite. "Wow."

"It's better than how I remember," Toby said quietly.

Elliot didn't know if he meant the cake or the stars, and didn't care. He took another bite and let the smooth-sweet chocolate melt on his tongue. He rested his head back against Toby's shoulder, staring up at old light from millions of stars, billions of light years away. The rattle of a distant train echoed, the sound carrying miles in the still night.   
  


  
[ ](http://members.iinet.net.au/~tentacles/oz/sly_63_snow.jpg)

_Sketch by Barbana_  
Click on image for larger version.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. :-)
> 
> Feedback so treasured. If you don't write, you can't imagine how nice it is to even just hear a favourite line or moment, or whatever. Concrit totally welcome too. Here or at drsquidlove @@@ livejournal.com or http://drsquidlove.livejournal.com/56384.html

**Author's Note:**

> A few things that might be useful to know:
> 
> Most of my stuff isn't on AO3; if you're looking for more, drsquidlove on LJ is still my posting home. Comments are welcome there or here or in e-mail, drquidlove @@@ livejournal.com
> 
> My complete archive is http://members.iinet.net.au/~tentacles/squidfic.html.
> 
> Editorial comments are totally welcome (I post in chapters because I revise according to reader feedback.) Most particularly, I do know that I have a tendency to let non-Americanisms slip through, so you're welcome to pick them. General chat, whatever. I just like talking about my pairings.
> 
> S.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [All You Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12601380) by [nel_gal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nel_gal/pseuds/nel_gal)




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